


Dennis Lachaise - What Remains

by Leshan



Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: M/M, New Orleans, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 14:57:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1862094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leshan/pseuds/Leshan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is told from the point of view of "The Musician" who went unnamed in the IWTV novel. In the movie, where Lestat tells Louis and Claudia that he's found someone that would make a better vampire than the both of them, this is who he's referencing (we assume). As it turns out, Dennis did not make a better vampire than them and once he was turned he seemingly wandered off, never to be heard from again.  Will he ever return to his Maker? Only time will tell.</p><p>This work was originally completed in 1998-99 and was displayed on the website Minuo.Org</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Untitled - One

In the spring of 1861, I was working on the docks in New Orleans. I was just 17. Every day I would unload cargo and put it in the big dark warehouses, and then begin to fill the vast holds with more goods destined for unknown places. It was back-breaking work with little pay and lots of rats! How I dreamt of going along and arriving on distant shores. I suppose I could have stowed myself in amongst the crates, and no one would have been wise to the fact.

One thing that kept me from leaving was the obligation I had to my family. My mother had grown ill over the past year and with my brother Nathaniel barely eleven years old,it was I who became the provider. My father had been killed three years earlier in a robbing along the very wharves where I toiled with the weighty cargo. It was hard to swallow the dreams I had of travel and a rich life, but I loved my mother dearly and had to care for her and my brother who looked to me as a man.

The other reason for not leaving was my love of music. In what little schooling I did have, I developed an ear for the piano and soon found myself scribbling down notes here and there on whatever scrap of paper I could find. My mother encouraged me at the age of ten to take lessons, so that I could play. Oh, how my heart soared at the idea of feeling the keys beneath my fingers. Of course, I didn't stop to think, at that age, of how my mother would afford lessons for my eager hands. The maestro she found however was quite eager to teach me, and I learned well. He seemed to spend a fair number of his evenings with my mother discussing my progress.

So through the spring and well into late summer I composed and played for my own enjoyment, and worked on the docks by day. It was not a luxurious existence by any means, but I was young and healthy and I was happy for the most part. The maestro played my compositions to the local theatre, and I was surprised when they were not only well received, but actually yielded me a small profit! The thought that I could earn money by doing this...by putting onto paper the constantly jingling music in my head... I was astounded by the possibilities. I kept my job on the docks knowing that the small pieces I was writing at the time were no reliable source to look for as income. I was savvy though. At night when I went to my room, I would take out the pad and paper I used solely for the music. I added bit by bit to the concerto I had penned some time ago. Soon, it was big enough to please my young mind and I bypassed the maestro and took it to the theatre myself. The orchestra leader did not recognize my name, and I had to explain to him about the music that had come his way before. He said he would look at it, and dismissed me with a wave of is hand. I left in a heat of embarrassment and disappointment.

Three days later, as I worked on the docks I heard someone yelling my name. I stood up and wiped the sweat from my brow. There stood Mother and Nathaniel waving to me. They looked fine, I thought, what was wrong? My mind raced in wonder and building anxiety as I headed towards them in a gradual run. Nathaniel held out a piece of paper to me, and I grasped at it absently as I looked to her with worried eyes. Her health so worried me. "Dennis ...." She said in her sweet, raspy voice "It is money, my Dennis! The man from the Theatre, he came today and left this for you!" How excited she looked. I turned my eyes slowly to the paper I held in my hand. I felt my breath draw in when I read the sum of money it was for. It was not exorbitant by any means, but to my eyes it looked like pure gold given the circumstances of our lives.

I took mother right away to the markets where I bought her some food that would do more than just ease her hungers. She cried and I hugged both she and my brother in happiness, crushing us all together. We went back to our little house and shared the first good meal we'd seen in a very long time.

I went outside after they had gone to bed. I looked up at the stars in the quiet skies, and for the first time I think, I realized that I had dreams far beyond what I had thought. My adulthood faced me with it's challenges and as I breathed in the thick New Orleans air, I knew my life as a man had begun.

I went to the Theatre the next morning instead of the waterfront. I spoke to several members of the orchestra and they encouraged me with what I was planning to do. I found the man to whom I'd given my composition. Nervously I approached him and cleared my throat, waiting for him to acknowledge me.

"Yes, What is it?" he asked in that same irritated tone I'd heard before.

"My.. My name is Dennis Sir, Dennis Lachaise. I was wondering Sir..." I stammered, "Well first of all, my thanks a thousand times for your acceptance of the work I gave you." Lord, how nervous I was and his demeanor only served to encourage this. He was a stout man with a gruffness to his speech and a hard edge to his face. " I was wondering if you might consider having me on as part of the theatre orchestra?"

He looked me over as though checking for rats that may have snuck onto me at the docks. My clothes weren't the finest and imagine the belied my circumstances. I continued to plead my case. I was no beggar, but I knew this was the perfect place to start and he knew my music was good.

"I could write for the plays Sir, and ..I would not be costly ..."

"Yes," He drawled "I wouldn't be able to pay you much more than the going wage you know."

So that was it, money was his worry. Greedy old lout! What he didn't know was that his 'going wage' for one composition was more than I would make at the docks in a week. I wasn't going to be rich if he hired me but it was damn sure better than busting my back for pennies. The mere thought of being able to make things better for my family, in small ways made me desperate to have this man tell me yes, I could work for him.

"Very well," He said "There is a small room near where we rehearse. You could you that I suppose as your workspace. There is a piano there that we rarely use...if it would be of use to you." He stopped for a second, as if he were reconsidering his offer. "What did you say your name was again?" He asked me.

"Lachaise, Sir" I said eagerly offering him my hand, "Dennis Lachaise"


	2. Untitled - Two

He directed me to follow him and gradually we wound up in the basement, with cold tile floors and walls that looked slightly damp. He told me this was their rehearsal room. I could hardly believe that of course, but who was I to doubt his word, and certainly I didn't want to complain. To the back, he pointed to a door and I walked in that direction. I turned to say something to him, but he had gone, leaving me alone in the quietness. Inside of the back room, I fumbled until I found the pull cord to the light, and when I grasped it, my eyes were met by the sight of an old upright piano. Worn wood and dingy ivories were to be mine. Any higher musician would have been disappointed but I was thrilled by the idea of having a place to call my own. I felt inspired! I grabbed a few of the sheaves of paper lying about for use in composing that night, and ran home to tell mother the news.

I found her in her bed, covered by the thinning blankets we couldn't afford to give up. Nathaniel was making her a broth from last night's supper I had happily bought. I took the cup from him and ruffled his hair. He was such a caring young man, quiet in his way, and how he loved us. I took the cup of steaming liquid from his hand and went to mother’s room. She rose up as I entered the room and coughed. It hurt me sometimes to look at her in this sick health. The hair I remembered in my youth as being full and blonde, had been diminished into a color which reminded me of faint autumn sunlight. I silently said to myself that the first payment I received from the theatre would go to a physician. Mother tried to help herself with local remedies her friends would suggest, but none of their magic was helping. She needed a professional, and I intended to make it happen whether it took me weeks to pay.

I sat there at her bedside and told her the good news of my hiring at the theatre. Her eyes sparkled with pride. I felt for a moment that she might fall to tears, but she simply patted the back of my hand with hers and told me she always knew I would go with the music. She had too. When I would come home from the docks dirty and tired she would sit with me while I ate, and tell me to be patient and proud of myself; that one day I would follow my dreams.

She lay back against her pillows and as I was telling her about the small room I was to use for composition, she fell asleep. I pulled the blanket up around her and bent to kiss her cool forehead. I went in to sit with my brother then, to find out what he had been up to on the eventful day of my life. We had always been close, Nathaniel and I, and now as we sat talking about life and my music, he said that he had been talking with his own friends about things that were going on in the world at that time. He had always been a bright boy, interested in what was going on around him, while I had been the dreamer with notions of travel. He was all to aware of the changes our country had seen since Lincoln had become President. It was hard to live oblivious to these events, as they circled around us. I suppose it was my interest in music that kept me from worry. In April of this year 'The Civil War' as they were calling it broke out in a town called Charleston, in South Carolina. In July, a call had been put out for 500,000 men to join in the battles. I was luckily not going because of my obligations to the family. How ironic I thought at times that my Father's death may have saved me from my own. So here I sat with my young brother, discussing war in the innocence of a balmy Louisiana night.

After Nathaniel had gone to sleep, I pulled out my papers and sat to writing some music I'd been thinking of off and on for awhile. It was not my usual style of classical interpretation. This piece had a jauntier rhythm to it and I simply let it come out onto the paper. Oh, this was nothing for the theatre, just something I had heard; The music of my mind. I would stick it away with all the others I had written here and there, in the hopes that someday they would make sense to someone other than me.

As fall came I was happily settled within the theatre. I had many friends there who were, I might say, of a better class than those I had hung with on the docks. I was happy, and my mother basked in my joy. I truly believed she was feeling better. More often these days she was out of her bed and taking meals with us. I wanted to take her to the doctor, but she always refused though late at night I could hear her coughing, and my worries returned.

One day while I was in the little room working on a difficult accompaniment to a play they were doing, a woman opened the door suddenly, and said that my brother was outside in tears. Immediately I ran upstairs and found him in the entranceway, with has youthful hand shaking. He flung himself into my arms.

"What is it Nathaniel?" I demanded. "What is wrong?" But I knew, it could only be the one thing which mattered most to both of us. Without waiting for his reply, I took of towards the house with him in tow. He was yelling to me as we ran, between his wavering voice and my own racing heart I could barely hear him. Something about mother coughing and there was blood or some other atrocity. My mind filled with terrible thoughts, and I was near tears as I burst through the front door.

Mother was in her bed and breathing with difficulty, but she attempted a feeble smile as she saw me. I went and knelt beside her. When I took her hand in mine the coolness of her skin frightened me. I looked over my shoulder and told Nathaniel to go and fetch the doctor. He hesitated only for a moment with wide eyes and then sprinted out of the house. I could hear him crying as he went off. While I sat there in the agonizing wait I whispered to mother of the music. It always calmed her, and even now she looked at me and I could see the love in her unhealthy eyes. I silently berated myself for not having followed my urges to take her to the doctor sooner. She coughed a bit and I moved her slightly up off her pillows so that she might breathe easier.

At last the doctor was there and when he motioned my brother and I out of the way of the bedside I went to him and held him close to me. I could feel fear coming off of him in waves, and despite my own which was equal, I wanted to be strong for him. The doctor listened to her chest and then looked into her eyes and took her pulse. He turned slowly to us and was quiet for a brief second to long. My brother, being young still did not catch the hesitation, but it spoke clearly to me before actual words had even left the old man's mouth.

"She should have seen me months ago," He said. The knife twisted in my gut. I knew all this time. I knew and I didn't take her. I listened to her stubborn insistence that she was alright. "There is nothing I can do for her now. I gave her something to let her rest easier, but...."

I felt Nathaniel absorb these words and as if they were crushing him, he felt against me, he arms wrapped about my waist. I pulled him closer to me unsure of whether it was to support him or myself. What was this man telling us? It couldn't be true. I had never imagined life without her and now he said she was dying.

In the other room, he put his hand on my shoulder and drew me away. He told me she had a sickness in her lungs. 'Consumption' he called it. It was literally eating away at her. he said to me in a grievous sigh that she had very little time left. I looked at him numbly, unable to believe what I was hearing.

I saw Nathaniel turn on his heel and burst out the door of our house in anger and confusion. I said quickly to the doctor that I could pay him, and he shook his head briefly in acknowledgment. I would track him down soon enough and settle the payment but for now I could not think of money. I turned without further excusing myself and went after my brother.

I found him near the docks. In the doorway of one of the warehouses he sat with his knees drawn up close to him looking scared and small. He would turn twelve in December of this year and he had just learned his mother may not see that day. I went to him and just sat there in silence holding him. It began to rain softly and I reminded him that mother was alone. How it hurt me to say her name to him, knowing his anguish, but she needed us there even if she was sleeping we headed out into the wetness and it mixed with our tears as we went back to our home.

I spent a good deal of my time at home after that, explaining to the theatre my mother's health. I would go to them if they needed to work on a piece, but as far as composing, I wanted to do it near my mother. She had grown slowly thinner, despite our efforts to encourage her appetites. the doctor came to check her occasionally but he offered no hope to us or to her. Eventually I told him to stop coming around. It only saddened my dear brother and served no purpose other than to deplete my meager finances. Nathaniel had turned sullen since that day in the rain. I could not blame him, and as much as I tried to console him there was no way I could reverse what the doctor had said. He spent many nights out with his friends, seeking company in order to forget. I feared he would get into trouble along the docks with that particular crowd, but what was I to do? I had to stay with mother and I had to trust that Nathaniel would find his own peace.

Fate was cruel that winter and one week before Nathaniel was to turn twelve our mother passed gently in the night. My eyes met his as he rose that morning and he knew. we arranged her burial in a lesser cemetery outside of the city limits. there was no one in attendance save for myself, my brother and a few of my theatre friends. It meant much to me that they came, out of respect for me. It was hard enough to cope with the finality of this ordeal, and would have been harder with no support.

Our house was no longer a home once mother died. It was a box that housed two young men. I went to the theatre for short hours each day and then came home to watch over Nathaniel. One afternoon I was on my way home when I saw something in the store window that I knew I must buy him for his birthday. It was a large Atlas. For being such a down-to-earth young man, my brother always spoke of the world and where he would like to visit. It was one of the many things we had in common, and I knew he would love it. I even had the store keeper wrap it in some brightly colored paper in hopes of lifting his spirits.

Two days later on the eve of his birthday I presented it to him. The smile that it brought to his face was a rare treasure and I memorized it I think in that instant. He tore off the paper, and then stammered apologetically to me, knowing it had cost extra to wrap. I laughed and watched his face as he saw the atlas. It was filled with an odd half boy- half man expression that was confused and happy at the same time. He came to me and I hugged him tightly.

"You'll get to these places someday Nate. You will." I hadn't called him that since he was a small boy, but perhaps that was what he seemed to me then as he struggled to maintain his composure in my arms. I understood him not wanting to cry. He was on the verge of becoming a man, and yet, we had both suffered so in our lives. There were many happy times but there was so very much to weep for. I brushed a wisp of Nathaniel's hair away from his eyes. His lip stuck out in defiance to the wetness ready in his eyes.

"It's ok to cry," I told him and for an all too brief moment, he was again a child in the arms of the only parent he had now. His tears soaked my shirt and I comforted him the way mother used to while my own tears fell. How we missed her. Then, as quickly as it had begun, his need was over. He straightened himself as if something in him had realized a twelve year old was crying and demanded a stop to it. He wiped his face on the cuffs of his shirt and quietly thanked me for the gift. Off to his room he went with it under his arm, looking for all the world older than he was.

 


	3. Untitled - Three

The months after his birthday seemed to pass happily and quickly. I turned eighteen in February and received a wonderful gift from the theatre. In recognition of the wonderful work they said, they presented me with my own piano. One that I could use at home! Oh what a day it was when the men from the store came and moved it in. I had them put it in mother’s room. It really was the logical choice for I could close the door and leave the rest of the house undisturbed while I in turn had my solitude to create. She would have liked to listen to me play I knew and somehow I imagined she was. Nathaniel had gotten me sheets of paper to compose on and sometimes, though rarely, he would sit and listen to me play. He was gone a lot these days. He had made better friends and they would often go into the heart of the city and played stick ball or some such thing. Sometimes I went and watched them. Often it was that I wanted simply to be there in The French Quarter. There was something vague there that pulled me. It had romanticism, and an eloquent old style, but it was more. I hoped that one day I could maybe settle down with a woman and together she and I could take Nathaniel and move here to a nice town home. I laughed to myself. That certainly wasn't going to happen any time soon. I had only a passing interest in a few of the ladies from the theatre troupe, and it was an unreciprocated interest at that! When my brother would tease me about getting married and such silliness, I told him he likely met more ladies on his new job than I ever would. He had taken to delivering goods for the local merchant, and when it took him to the city, which was often, he actually made a good profit in the tips the people gave to him. He was always fast to get them their canned goods or other necessities, and he was a friendly well mannered boy.

My job in the theatre was going extremely well. I had even managed to write a bit of dialogue to go along with a score I had laid out. Little by little I was adding to it, in the hopes that one day I could convince the gruff little conductor, Mr. Deuveux, to take a look at. I didn't know if I would pursue it that far though. I suppose I was still hesitant to believe in my own talents. Everyone here claimed that I was very promising and for the most part, I was pleased with my work. I just wanted more out of myself, all the time.

On a crisp, early spring afternoon I let myself go home from the creative process a little early. I had been a bit under the weather lately and wanted to lie down. It was likely a germ brought on by the subtle fluctuations of the temperatures. Once home, I made myself a steaming cup of tea, and retired to my small room. The house was quiet and soon I was asleep. When I awoke it was well after dark. I called out for Nathaniel but received no reply. Ah, like him to be out with his bunch and forget the time. I was not quick to worry. I went about the house picking up things and humming a tune of my own out loud, practicing inflections in tone and strength. No wonder composers were thought to be mad, I laughed.

When I reached his room, my laughter stopped. The drawer to his bureau was tilted at a half open angle. Something about that caught my eye, and my brain found it disturbing. When I stepped fully into the room and pulled the drawer wide, I found that there were none of my brother's garments in it at all. As I turned about in wonder of this discovery I spotted a sheet of my composition paper on his bed. I picked it up curious which of my works it was and why it had found its way into his room.

Slowly my heart began to sink. Surely this was some sort of nonsense, a fever perhaps from my impending sickness? I read the words there in his swooping letters, and yet still I could not fathom their truth.

Dearest Dennis, I know you're going to be mad when you read this, but I have gone off with Thomas and Jacks to fight! There are so many places I can see Dennis, just like you said! I don't know just where we will get to but I will write you as soon as I can. Don't be too mad, I'll be all right!

I love you Dennis! Nathaniel

I sat down on his bed. I was alone. I re-read this meager letter at least twice more and it made no more sense. Short it was in its content, but sharply stinging like the tiny barb of a wasp. It sank in further and deeper but I could not understand him doing this. So young and so damned impulsive of him! He had no idea of what the world might hold. He and his friends running off like this! I felt nothing but absolute amazement that they would do it, that _he_ would do it! I lay back on his bed for a bit and then when I had let all sorts of horrific possibilities fill my mind up with anger and fear, I got up and stormed out of the house. I had no idea where I was going or what I might do. What to do? Tell the police? Ha! a twelve year old gone off for a night of adventure would none concern them. No, I swore aloud. Maybe he would come home by morning. I had to hope this was all a childish fancy. I walked most of the night, clear into the Quarter looking for him and trying to drown out the voice in my head that told me this was for real and that he wasn't playing games. When I finally wandered home I was exhausted. Sleep overtook me without question.

I awoke and lay still, listening to the world around me as I searched for any sound that he may have returned. He hadn't. I went to his room, and he was not there. He was nowhere and I felt the sunshine of the morning dim just a bit. My sweet brother was gone. Where would he be now? Was it possible that he was waking in some camp? Was he surrounded by the call to be up and ready for the action the day would bring. God how I feared. I could do nothing.

In the weeks that followed I searched for him without luck. I could only contact one of his friend’s parents as I did not know the others. The boy’s mother was beside herself with worry and the father was full of false pride for his son's 'honorable actions'. He was afraid I knew, but he would not have said it for the world. A few of my friends had contacts with men in the armies and said they would attempt to locate Nathaniel, but understandably with the confusion and rancor, it may be difficult. All I could do was wait: I went about playing music, but slowly I noticed a different tone seeping in to the work I performed. The ominous chords mixed with the tender melodies, reflecting the condition of my emotions. The few social contacts I had in the chorus of the theatre began to dwindle, I suppose due to my sadness. It was contagious and I couldn't blame them for pulling away. Almost as if to make up for the loss of their companionship, I began to receive offers from the more wealthy theatre patrons to perform at their homes. I accepted not out of the want for their money, but rather as an alternative to facing my empty house. It made little difference to me that for the most of them I played for I was but "hired entertainment." At least I still had my music, and the melodies coursed through me and out onto the paper in dark, discordant notes that said all my mouth could not.

My most charitable employer in this venue was Madame LeClair. She was a wealthy young widow who lived on the fashionable Rue Dumaine. Many nights I would sit in her town home at the square grand piano and perform for she and her friends. Long after they had gone some nights I would stay and we would talk. She would try to draw my sorrows from me with her gentle words and a full glass of her best brandy. I began to think she had in mind some other form of entertainment, but she never approached me in a manner such as my mind suggested to itself. Had she done so, I would have been not have been a fool and turned her down.

In April, I left the theatre completely and kept my private performances as my sole means of what would be considered employment. I never considered playing my compositions to be laborious, especially after the days of working the docks. Now I found even little pleasure in playing for these who claimed to love my work. I was empty inside, wanting both my dear mother to be with me, and to know where sweet Nathaniel had gone.

I found out later that week. "Jacks" came to see me as I was just rising from my bed. Alaine Jackson, Nathaniel's friend. They called him "Jacks" because he told them Alaine was a girl’s name, and of course, bravado was everything to them. I rubbed my eyes as I opened the door and found him there. His blond hair was longer than I remembered it to have been and his body had the look of one who has not seen much food in some time. I stepped aside to let him in, quite aware of his nervous eyes.

"Jacks!" I cried as I pulled out a chair for him. He did not sit down. "Where have you been? You bring me news of my brother?? Ah, you boys! I could shake every one of you for running off..." My voice wavered at the last when I noticed his hands nervously tumbling over one another as if he were knitting some imaginary garment.

"Dennis, I.." He began.

I knew in that instant what he had come for. My mind seemed to spilt in two with one half calmly and rationally saying that this could not be so, and that I was foolish to jump to such a conclusion. The other half of my mind knew. It knew that something would come out of this young man's lips in the next instant that I would hate to hear. I steeled myself for this and leaned myself against the chair I had offered him.

"No, Alaine... You can't have come back to tell me...." The doubting side of my mind forced me to say. "Nathaniel, he is coming soon then, since you are here?"

His eyes turned down to study the worn floor boards he stood on, and those hands of his had stopped knitting and now fell still at his sides.

"Dennis, he .... he isn't coming home."

Somehow, someone surely had put a hot knife into my chest. I heard this boy, this child and yet I did not.

"What are you telling me...." I asked him in a voice that sounded strangely not my own. He raised his heavy eyes to meet mine and I saw thick tears spill from beneath his lashes and run in jagged lines down his thin face.

"Somewhere up river Dennis...We was on the way to this place called Tennessee I think, and Nate well, he caught himself a bad cough you know. He just got so weak Dennis and the other men tried to help him but there isn't much food, and the doctors got to tend to the men who been wounded and all. He.... he just got so bad. He was coughing and fevered. I woulda come for ya sooner but we was moving along again and I couldn't leave him, I just couldn't. He...." His voice fell quiet and choked with his restrained sobs. "He's gone Dennis. He passed two nights ago in the camp we set up. I guess I was wrong to wait... I...I...." He broke down then, in great wails of sadness and guilt. My own chest heaved as I felt that hot knife work its way deeper into me, seeking my very soul and finding it quickly. I pulled him into my embrace, desperate to hold something or someone as I cried. We stayed like this for indefinable moments and then we separated, our shirts wet with one another's tears. He felt as though it was his fault, and I told him I did not blame him. He had been a loyal friend to stay with Nathaniel, and I knew my brother was probably grateful to have had him there. Alaine Jackson, 15 years young, guardian to my brother in a place where neither of them should have been left me with the name of their commander. He thought I would be hearing from him to make arrangements to bring the remains home, because before he had left he advised the man of his destination and of my relation to Nathaniel. I knew in my heart though that this would not be the case. I knew that somewhere along the shores of the Mississippi, my brother would be buried, if time allowed it. He was of no importance to the cause and they hadn't the time or inclination to return him from wherever it was he came. My head reeled from the thought.

I spent the rest of that day alone there in the home which had once rung with his laughter, and I missed him. I grieved. I even would have welcomed the sound of the rare arguments we'd had. The silence was overwhelming and towards evening I went to sit at my piano. My fingers treated the silent room first to the solemnness of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. It was one of the first pieces I had learned how to play, and I still loved it. For this day it was perfection as it flooded my being with the strange rapture that deep personal grief can provide. Gradually I moved on to a tortured Bach, and finally came to play my own random sequences of angst filled notes as I tried to reason out my life. I didn't pause to write this down as I played it spontaneously. I knew should I want it later, the melody would be there in my mind as always.

I awoke the next morning in my bed with an empty bottle of cheap liquor staring at me from across the room on the table. Mother had kept barely any alcohol in our home. We could scarcely afford it. This bottle I had found stowed away in the cupboard last night as if the Gods had known I might need its assistance. Now there was a rapping at the door and it felt as though whomever it was knocked not on the wood, but directly on my skull. I went to the door, still in my clothing from yesterday and opened it to face the glaring sunlight and the face of none other than Madame LeClair. Whatever was she doing in this part of the city?

"Dennis?" She asked on seeing my disheveled appearance. "You were to play last night. What became of you?"

Play? It had completely slipped my mind, and now all I could do is stand there uttering vague apologies while she, dressed in a beautiful peach colored gown stared at me as though I was a different person than she knew me to be. I was. She pushed her way past me uninvited, into my home and when I had closed the door she placed her hand on my shoulder and with genuine concern in her voice, asked me what was the matter.

I thought my tears were incapable of coming again, but how mistaken that thought was. As she held me to her like a child I poured out what was so fresh and painful, why I had missed the performance, my grief. I saw tears in her eyes as I looked up at her. She was all I really had now, in the form of a relative, or even what I could call a close friend. In a moment of uncertainty, and confusion I reached my lips to meet hers. I needed comfort so desperately and she was here soft and warm in my arms. She allowed me the pleasure of one long and delicious kiss before pulling away from me.

"Dennis" She whispered. "I do not think we... I mean..." She left her refusals at that and I understood. I was more a brother to her. A friend. Not in the least matrimonial material. I stood up apologizing and she rose behind me. She put her arm about my waist and I did not shy away. I waited to see what she would do next.

"Why don't you come with me Dennis?" She asked in a voice full of worry. This surprised me totally. "I certainly have the room as you well know and......well, I think you shouldn't be here in this house alone."

I looked around with tired eyes at this home I had spent my life in from infancy. It was no longer anything to me with the both of them gone. She was right. Being here alone would be a bad thing for me. I smiled and went to hug her to me once more, as I quietly agreed to her offer. Now, this life was over.... it mattered not that I be here anymore.

 


	4. Untitled - Four

Through the summer I stayed with her and for the most part it was a fine arrangement. She provided me with room and board, and though I offered - she never would accept a penny in return. I seemed to be some sort of project for her, and when I performed for her friends she wore an expression of fierce pride and bathed in my accolades. These recitals led to many new social contacts for me and many new performances. On rare occasions I even traveled across the river into the state of Missouri to play for her relations living there. For the life of me I did not see what it was they so admired in my playing. I thought my work had become profound and even a bit morose. Naturally I understood why this was, but I had figured these were people who would prefer something a bit more lighthearted. Most nights I would begin with an eerie interpretation of Chopin's Prelude in D flat major and then work my way through the classics on whim, adding my own depth to whatever I chose for my fingers that night. Finally, I would wind up with my own work. My two favorites were a concerto in G minor, vaguely reminiscent of Albinoni and another concerto long and deep, this one in D minor with baroque stamped all over it. 

The small group would sit in the parlor, sipping full glasses of brandy while they nodded their heads in hypnotic agreement to the power of my instrument. She would serve hors d'oeuvres and from where I sat, looking at them it all seemed comically proper. This was quite a different lifestyle than I was accustomed to and at times I felt very out of place. When her guests approached me to give their thanks and compliments I was rather at a loss for words, though I was always polite to them knowing wisely not to offend. Many of the people would come repeatedly to her home to see me or so they claimed this was the reason. I often thought they were more for the liquor, but I wasn't paying for it, so what was it to me? Soon my eyes became accustomed to their faces and they were inviting me to call them by name. I never did due to my upbringing I suppose and due to their influential positions. 

Any given Saturday night would bring the stoic Monsieur DeGlass and his wife. He ran the bank here in The Quarter, and made sure everyone knew that. Monsieur Monroe was there as well most of the time. He also was involved in the town's money. I think his endeavors were of a more questionable nature that that of the bank. One of the regulars was a well dressed gentleman with a mane of blond hair. He was very charming and Madame seemed quite taken with him. I never caught his name nor did I ask. She never muddled in my affairs and I would give her the same distance. The night I saw him there with a male companion of startling beauty reassured me that there was nothing between he and Madame, though I really shouldn't have been suspicious to begin with. 

They would all sit about chatting after I had finished and I would retire most often to a hot bath until they had gone. When finally the house was quiet, I would go and sit with her. By then it was late and she would want to retire soon. The performances always left me a little edgy emotionally and I had to sit up sometimes early into the morning in order to relax. I would talk out my woes to the empty room and a bottle of wine. On more than one occasion, she came sleepily out of her room shouting at me to be quiet, and then seeing me in such a condition of drunken sorrow she would turn sympathetic and lead me to my room where I would sleep often until late the next day. 

I would at times feel an enormous emptiness within me. There were of course women and drink to occupy my thoughts, as well as the occasional interest of a gentleman. I wasn't particular in what I looked for as release although these decadent pastimes did little in lessening my grief for my mother and more recently, my dear brother. There were nights I swear I could hear him calling me from another room, or hear a comment my mother would make to one of my thoughts or actions. They had permanent residence in my conscious since their deaths and there was nothing anyone, myself included could do about it. Talking about them to these people, even Madame, seemed unsettling to me and I knew that mother and Nathaniel would be with me forever in my mind. The months slowly crept by and soon enough it was fall. The nights were still quite warm and I had begun to go out walking after my recitals rather than sit and take the road the wine begged me to follow. I would sometimes just sit and watch the star filled skies pass overhead, or perhaps walk down toward the docks where I had worked in what seemed another lifetime. Most of these walks were uneventful, and I shed very few tears. It wasn't befitting after all for The Pianist to walk about The Quarter babbling like a mad soul. I laughed at that thought some nights as I sat across from Monsieur DeGlass's bank with it's windows gleaming like big black eyes. 

In late September, I gave a particularly straining performance at the home of Madame Rousseau. She was an old woman, and a very dear friend to my own Madame LeClair. All of the regular attendees were there, and that night my music wore a mask of pain. It was my mother's birthday. 

I tenderly began my piece as a tinkling adagio and then it grew from within my own imagination to some form that indeed had no name. I saw mother in my mind as I played. She had been so beautiful before the sickness, before my father had died, before I had to go to work on the docks..... before..... 

My fingers rested on the ivories. I was finished, and exhausted by the rendition. I didn't bother to look up at any of them. I rose and made a short little bowing motion, averting my eyes, and went into a back room with the sound of confused comments and mild applause following me. I was near tears as I realized how overwhelmed I had been. Truly it was near madness as I had played with the thoughts rampantly careening through my head. On this night I knew I would need the wine and the walk, so I grabbed a bottle of Burgundy from where they sat meant for the glasses of the guests, and I went out of Madame Rousseau's back door into the night. I wandered aimlessly about town for awhile and finally wound up sitting in a darkened doorway as I tried to drink my heartaches away. When I saw my old friend James pass I hailed him down and we talked for a bit. It felt to me as though we had nothing to say to one another, it was as if he did not know me anymore. He offered to take me home, and I accepted the transport, though it was not home I chose to go. He dropped me on the far side of town. It was still fairly early and there was no reason yet to be wary of who might be out in the shadows, but James would not go farther than he did. I thanked him and went on my way, walking off along the darkened road. My destination was known to me though I had been here but once in the past year. Holt cemetery, a mile down the road was where my mother lay under the earth. It was the only place I could afford for her, and God knows I hated it. This was the only underground cemetery in the city. Most tombs here in the lowness of New Orleans were above ground but not here. My mother lay along with the other poor, in the darkness and dampness. 

I opened the creaking iron gates and stepped onto the grounds. At least it was a pleasant place, offering something of a personal feel to it's visitors. In the darkness it was actually less intimidating than the bigger cemeteries near town. I made my way to mother's grave with it's white brick outline and simple headstone. I sat crossed legged on the ground and for several long moments I was very still, just letting my thoughts wander. It had been nearly a year since she had died. Had I felt alive myself in that year? 

I reached up and found almost to my surprise that tears were streaking my face, and when I attempted to blink them away, my wine-hazed vision became even foggier. Why was I crying? I became angry with myself, confused. Wanting to be strong, wanting to be a man and yet still legitimate in my griefs. Dammit how I missed her , and Nathaniel! Why had the fates been so cruel to us all? I lay myself down on the cooling earth near my mother and how I sobbed then. My cries escaped me uncontrollably and filled the air around me. No one was there to hear so I cared not if I made these wounded noises. God had taken away the two things that mattered to me most... there was nothing now for me, not even the music held my interest. I wished that I could dig my way into the earth and rest near my mother's bones. I wanted to be in Heaven, if I even believed in it anymore. I knew that if such a thing existed, surely she was there. Gradually I spent myself and I lay there a bit longer before sitting up to pull my knees into me, and stare off into the night in search of answers that would never come. 

Suddenly there was a noise from the corner behind me. An animal likely, rats were everywhere like the plague they carried. It was just as I was thinking of the long walk back to town that I heard a voice. 

"The greek poet Ovid once said," The voice spoke to me "It is some relief to weep. Grief is satisfied and carried off by the tears" 

It was the blond haired gentleman from my recitals. I rose immediately to my feet and whirled about to face him. What in God's name was he doing here? How dare he intrude on my privacy like this! 

"What in the hell are you doing here? Who are you?" I asked him angrily. 

"I think my name is not as important as the fact that I know this grief you have." 

"But how," I struggled to make sense of things, though the wine was affecting me badly now "How did you know I would be here? And why did you choose to follow me?" I stumbled back and wound up against a cypress, exposing the grave site to him as he approached me. I sat down and breathed deeply, wondering who the hell Ovid was as I hoped for the alcohol to wear off. This gentleman, I couldn't remember his name, walked toward the small patch of ground and studied it for a moment. 

"Your mother" He said as he looked at her name. When he looked then at me, I could only sit there and return his gaze dumbly. In my exhausted state from the weeping and the intoxication I didn't care really why he was there, or what his motives were for following me. He likely could have been a murderer and I would not have bothered a struggle for my life. I spoke slowly to him, telling him of her death and then of Nathaniel's. He was a relative stranger to me but I needed to talk it out, to escape the ghosts or perhaps lay them to rest once and for all and I was actually glad to have his ear to bend. It mattered not that we sat in this humid cemetery on a black autumn night, it was time for my sorrows to spill out of me. 

When at last I had emptied myself of my thoughts I rested my head against the massive trunk of the cypress tree, and closed my eyes. I could have fallen asleep right there not caring if he stayed or left. For many moments I thought he had left, until I felt him caress my cheek with his hand. It felt oddly cool against the flush of my skin, and not in the least unwelcome. In a quiet voice he spoke to me as he stood up, taking my hand in his. 

"Why don't we see about getting you home my friend?" He asked and then, as I stood up, my world spun into blackness and I saw no more. 

When next I opened my eyes, I was in my bed at Madame's. I was still in my clothes from last night and my boots I saw had been neatly placed beside my bed. Had he brought me here or had I managed to stumble into bed under my own power? 

"Dennis?" I heard Madame call out. "Are you getting out of bed or shall I try and bring the bank here to you?" 

The bank? My aching head tried to make sense of what she'd said. Ah yes, the bank. We had an appointment there today. Much to my amazement, Madame was purchasing a home for me nearby. She said it was so that I could have larger numbers of people attending my recitals, and perhaps that was true but I suspected she was tiring of my antics and wanting her privacy restored. Whatever the reason I was extremely grateful. 

"Dennis!" Her sharply annoyed voice shot into my room as she appeared in the doorway. "For God's sake Dennis, get yourself cleaned up. I swear, if you do not cease your carousing people will start to talk." 

I supposed it was not the best time to inquire about anything, but I wanted to test her mood a bit further so I asked, "Did you happen to see me when I came in last night?" That was evidently the wrong thing to ask. 

She put her hand on her hip and looked at me tiredly. "I certainly did not see you. If you would remember, I told you I would be late with Madame Rousseau's niece, helping her. I do have better thing to do than keep up with you." 

She smiled a bit as she said this but I knew she had grown weary of my habits. This was not the time to push her on any matter, so I stood up and stretched. Seeing that I was at least out of bed, she smiled again and left me with a small shake of her head. Ah well, I thought, I will see the man at my next recital. The recital I will have in my new home. The thought of the house and moving in suddenly hit me, clearing all of the cobwebs from my head. I dressed quickly and smoothed my hair. It was time to go to the bank. 

Within the next two hours I became the proud owner of a home on Nashville Street. Of course the papers and all were mere formalities in my name for tax reasons but no one other than myself and the bank knew of Madame being the financier for the property. It was a huge and wonderful home. I was thrilled to be able to furnish it to my liking, and when they brought the grand piano in from Madame's I had them place it squarely in the middle of my new parlor. I swore I could have fit fifty people in the room and still had space! It was better than I ever remembered Christmas to be in my home and as I walked into an empty room with the movers behind me, I thought of mother and Nathaniel. I hoped that in heaven somewhere they were happy for me. I felt as if I were slowly getting over the grief and I was ready to have a life of my own now. I returned to the scene of chaotic men pushing and wrangling furniture into my home, and beyond them I saw Madame in the doorway. I motioned her over to me, and when she came to my side I faced her and took her in my arms. When the look of surprise crossed her face, I jokingly told her in my excitement that it was terribly bad luck for the homeowner not to be kissed. She graced my laughing mouth with a delicate brush of her own, and giggled, infected with my happiness. It was not that I wanted her in the way I had once, it was merely that I was young and deliriously happy. 

When, nights later all was settled, she and I planned to have my first recital in one week's time. I surprised myself by not asking her about the blond gentleman. Truthfully, in all the activity I had forgotten about him somewhat but now as I sat planning the event the memory of his face came to my mind clearly. He was a strikingly handsome fellow, I had to admit and I fervently hoped he would be there. 

On the night of the performance I was not to be disappointed. I stood in back of the parlor near my enormous bookshelf dressed in my 'performance clothes' and sipping a bit of cool water. When I peered around the arch way into the other room where the guests were mingling I saw him. He was splendidly dressed in a vest of blue velvet with a dark blue design drawing out the color of his eyes. I could see that even across the room as he spoke with Monsieurs Cheval and DuBonne. He did not see me and I retreated back into the corner to flex my fingers as I always did and run through what I would play in my mind. I wanted to make up for the monstrous pounding I gave the keys at Madame Rousseau's not so long ago. Her niece had brought her tonight and I was promised to my Madame to visit with her and be on my best behavior. 

I entered the main parlor and they turned to me and applauded gently and properly. I seated myself at the piano, my piano now, and gave them what they came for. Though my music still held a somberness of tone, my spirit wasn’t filled with the deeper angst of my last recital. The notes seemed to float around the room on a dark moving river of sound. I would look up from my ivories periodically - always to be pierced by those eyes which I'd seen earlier. Damned if he wasn't staring at me. The walking cane that he held, he tapped softly on the floor in rhythm to my music and I would have sworn there was a gleam of amusement in those eyes at the fact he was unnerving me. I must speak to him afterward I told myself and focused back on the piano and my performance. I rolled smoothly from a Brahms into a piece of my own which I'll admit was morose and haunting in both its key and composition. When finally I had finished there was a hush among them as if they thought perhaps it had lured the ghosts out of some corners of my new mansion. I smiled to reassure them and stood up, signifying the end of the recital. After just a moment of hesitation they burst into applause and then began once again to talk quietly within small groups while drinks were served to them. I reluctantly went over to Madame Rousseau and bent to kiss her powdered cheek as I scanned the room for him. He was over by the front door speaking with a tall beautiful lady I did not know. Was he leaving or was she? I conversed pleasantly with Madame, and she praised my music and quietly told me she understood about my mother and my outburst at her home. She said something to the effect of harboring no ill will against me, and I again kissed her while giving my thanks. I made the excuse of needing to speak with Monsieur DeGlass about the house, in order to take my leave from her. She nodded her acceptance and I walked away into the thinning crowd slower than I would have liked. I saw him nowhere and was held up by people stopping me to chat or comment on the evening's work. When they finally had left except for Madame LeClair, I realized I had missed him and again to my surprise, my heart sunk just a tad at the thought. 

I stepped out onto the step with her to wish her on her way while her carriage driver waited impatiently. It was then that I saw him. He was lingering across the street under a dimming gas lamp. It was as if he had been waiting for me. I think I drew in my breath a tad for Madame looked at me in a puzzled way for a moment before stepping into her ride. 

When she had gone he came across to me in a slow and deliberate way. Something about just his movements affected me in some manner I was not accustomed to, and I couldn't help but to smile as he approached. 

"Monsieur," I said quietly. "I was hoping to see you. I wanted to..." My voice couldn't continue in the warmth of that smile so I found myself asking him if he wanted to come in. I wanted him to be my first private guest. 

"Yes, I suppose I would like to" He answered to my invitation. "I suppose I would like that very much Dennis" 

We entered the house and made our way into the smaller parlor near the back of the house where I 'd stood earlier near the bookshelves. He looked at them now with interest, scanning the titles randomly as if he'd seen them all before somewhere. Suddenly a thought occurred to me. 

"How did you know my name?" I asked him as I helped myself to a bottle of Brandy left over from the guests. How fortunate it was for my palate that the servers were lax in their removal of such things. 

"Why from the other night in the cemetery of course." He responded as he took a seat in the large wingback chair across a small table from me. 

I felt my face flush from embarrassment as I wondered what else I possibly could have said to him and now not recall. "I want to apologize for that night Monsieur..." I stopped not knowing his last name, and again feeling foolish. What an effect he had on me, and I laughed to myself when I noticed it. "i'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't remember your name, if you told me. I was planning to ask Madame, but I haven't. I was embarrassed that I couldn't remember." 

"It is Monsieur Bo.." He started then stopped himself and continued, "You need only to call me Lestat and there really isn't a need to ask Madame LeClair. She knows me only by my name as well. After all" He laughed, "If I can help you out of a graveyard and into your bed then certainly we are already friends, aren't we?" 

I stammered then joined him in laughter. "Very well then," I said "Lestat it is." 

He stayed longer into the night than I had even hoped he would and I played a small bit more of the dark piece I had played earlier. He himself was a player of the piano he said and I begged him to play for me but he refused that as he had the brandies I'd offered him. He said that perhaps he would play should I allow him to visit again. 

I sat there on the piano bench looking at him. I asked him did that mean he wanted to visit me again. I was unaccustomed to having my own friends. It had been many years. 

"Of course I would like to visit you, why shouldn't I want that?" He asked almost offended as he leaned onto the piano toward me. "I find your company quite refreshing in comparison to some that I know these days." He gave my cheek a brief touch with his hand and along with the rings he wore I noticed the perfected gleam of his nails. I felt a chill rush through me at his touch, but before I could speak, he was up and claiming it was past time for him to be on his way. 

I walked him to the large front doors and out onto the small porch. He bade me goodnight and slowly walked down the street and out of view. I stood there for long moments after he had gone. Finally, I thought, a friend. Someone who understands me as no one else has. I took myself in and in no time was headed up to my grand bedroom. Once I had undressed and readied for bed I was amazed at how tired I found myself to be. I climbed into the softness of the bed and my thoughts were of music and laughter as I drifted to dreams. 


	5. Untitled - Five

Two nights later I sat alone in my study. This is what I'd begun to call the back half of the parlor as it was very divided into almost a separate room by the ornately scrolled arch way. It had a very different feel than any room in my new home. it was small and homey so I spent a great deal of time here. Most evenings, as I had done tonight, I made a great fire and sat reading quietly before I retired. 

Startling me out of my novel came a knock on the door. Who could be calling this late at night? As I rose to go to the door I pulled my thin robe tight around me and knotted the belt. I looked out the small peer windows and saw much to my delight that it was Lestat. I quickly unlocked and opened the door. 

He smiled at me and stepped inside at my invitation. I took his dampened overcoat and hung it in the hall behind me. 

"How nice to see you again Lestat!" I said 

"As it is you Dennis" He replied pulling out a wrapped package from beneath his arm "I've brought you something." 

"A gift? You didn't need to bring me anything" I told him with somewhat of a feeling of embarrassment as I led the way into the music room. 

"Not necessarily a gift. I was negligent in bringing you a proper welcoming present for your recital last week. I wanted to make up for my forgetfulness." 

"Oh nonsense" I said with a laugh, then, more quietly " I was glad enough to have you here" 

"Yes well, my apologies no less" He studied me. "Won't you open it?" 

I tore off the paper gently and opened the box. I know I sighed as I saw the contents; fine parchment paper, a bottle of ink and a writing quill with a point as sharp as a razor. It was almost the finest thing I could remember receiving as a gift. 

"For your next masterpiece" He said when I looked at him in question. 

"Oh Lestat," I said, unable to muster more words than that though it was not enough to say. 

He slapped my shoulder in a friendly way and said, "Just write something beautiful for these hands of mine to play, that is all I ask....." 

"Certainly, for you..." I smiled. "In fact, I will have plenty of time to write now. I have told Madame I want no more recitals for awhile. One must not grow weary of their art, am I right?" 

He laughed gently and nodded his head. I watched without comment as his curls came loose from their tie and fell into his face. I had never known I would think of a man as beautiful, but here in front of me was one who fit that definition superbly. 

He stayed well into the morning hours and I assured him that I did not mind at all. We spoke of so many things. When we discussed the war briefly I found that I was able even to speak Nathaniel's name without the bitter twist of the knife inside of me. It hurt far less now that I spoke to a friend. He shared with me his own sorrow at having lost his mother in the same manner of disease that I had lost mine. This endeared him to me all the more, and I couldn't help but to think of how I would have liked knowing him long before...when my life had seemed such a ruin. My mind drifted off and unable to help myself, I yawned. How rude of me! I apologized, embarrassed. 

"No, no..." He said, as he stood "I've kept you up far too long my friend. You aren't accustomed to these odd hours I keep." As he went to retrieve his coat, a quick but recognizably dour look crossed his face. "I really have to be getting home..." 

I thanked him for his company and he surprised me by pulling me into an embrace the way old friends will do. As he held me in that brief moment his lips accidentally brushed the side of my neck as he said, "The pleasure Dennis, was all mine." That night as I slept and for many nights thereafter I was to suffer dreams of a nature I'd never before experienced. 

The autumn deepened and with it the relationship between he and I. Lestat would come for me and we would walk the Quarter as we talked, and eventually wind up at a fine local restaurant where oddly, he would buy me supper of my choice but never join me in the feast. I assumed it was because of the late hours. He never came much before late evening for me, and he likely had eaten before he arrived. Perhaps it was that he didn't want to dine in front of me. I had known some people with such peculiarities, but I certainly did not turn down his hospitality. He took me to some of the finest establishments I'd ever been to and our conversations were always rich with debate and humor. Slowly he had become my most cherished companion. 

One humid night after Madame LeClair had been to visit I sat outside on the steps and awaited the storm that I knew was coming inevitably. How I loved to listen to the thunder as it echoed through the tightly packed streets as if it were a mountain canyon. When I heard voices approaching I looked up and there to my surprise walked Lestat and another gentleman. Ah, this was the one from the recital where I had first seen him. What had he said his name to be? I tried to remember as I watched them approach. They were arguing and I heard only remnants of the conversation. 

"Oh but I know you...I know you " I heard Lestat say with a low laugh "I will not" Was all I heard from the one with the long dark hair. Hm, I wondered about his name. Lenard, or perhaps... no..Louis yes, that was it. The only thing I could focus on truthfully were this man's remarkable looks. He was tall and pale, with his hair loose about his face in some rebellious and morose style. Beautiful... there was no other word for him and as I realized that a pang of jealousy stabbed my heart. 

Just as quickly it was gone when I saw Lestat leave this one's side and head toward me. We talked for a moment and when next I turned my eyes to the street he had gone, as if he had never been there at all. Lestat waved away my concern and suggested we go in as the wind had picked up considerably. I poured us each a brandy and he picked up his glass in that offhand manner I'd come to know and followed me into the parlour. As the night wore on, the gusts outside grew to a terrible howl which caught even my attention. 

"Are you frightened?" He asked as he sat on the sofa further down from me. A shadow from the branches outside played across his face. "Of the storms I mean..." 

I stammered. "No...In fact I love them. This one seems to be quite strong." 

He looked at me for long moments and save for the moan of the wind outside nothing existed but those tantalizing blue eyes of his. How they were an accentuated brilliance on his face which shone in its paleness. I looked away nervously, fearful I suppose that he could read my very thoughts. He moved slightly closer to me and stared deeply into my own eyes. Was it possible I wondered that he felt the same arousal as I? Arousal? Mon Dieu, the word had come to mind automatically and yet yes, that is exactly what I was feeling. It was not the brandy nor the coming of the storm...it was him seated here next to me which caused this emotion. 

I stood up and went to the window in the hopes that my senses would cease this torment. He came to stand behind me quietly and I could not bear to face him. In that moment there was a tension filling the room thicker than the fogs near the waterfront. I felt his hand come to rest on my neck as he placed his arm around my back and leaned in closer to me. My breathing became shallow as I thought to myself that I did not wish for him to pull away. 

"Lestat" I whispered so faintly that I wasn't even sure I had said it aloud. 

"Do you....like spending time with me Dennis?" He asked stepping in closer behind me. I lowered my head as he spoke unable to deny any longer the feelings inside of me and feeling, in spite of them, some measure of shame. I mumbled something vague as I wondered whether I should walk away from him or stay and let fates decide the next move. 

"What is that Dennis?" He asked at my voice. "Mmm. Nevermind, It really isn't important now is it? What matters is that I am here and that...." 

Those were the last words I heard. My mind became wrapped in a haze as suddenly I felt him brush his lips against my neck softly. Never before had so many images filled my mind, confusing and yet blending one into another in a gently tumbling manner, as though I were falling into a faint as I stood there. 

When I came to my senses I looked about and saw that Lestat was sitting on the sofa where he'd been before. He looked at me in a puzzled manner. What had just happened I wondered? Had I imagined the whole thing just now? He sat there and studied me with a bemused expression while I tentatively rubbed my neck where..... he had kissed me? How odd. the flesh that my fingers touched was tender and sensitive, but surely, if he was not right there... no, I must have been imagining it, caught in a daydream of my subconscious. He questioned whether I was alright with myself and I said I was just fine as I went to join him there. 

I tried to focus on a game of chess he'd suggested but in the end I became too distracted and feigned sleepiness which prompted him to take leave of me for the evening. He left me with an odd smile, as if he knew the secret of what puzzled me. 

In the weeks that followed he and I would spend countless hours together, and the odd occurrence which I'd had that night happened more than once.Each time he would move upon me with a gesture of intimacy I was left feeling strangely weakened and confused. Gradually I came to understand what was happening and feeling awkward, I said nothing to him. He seemed to indicate to me that he was not only in acceptance of the feelings I had, but that his ran in the same direction. Yes, I realized that slowly I was coming to love Lestat. That was acceptable to me regardless of the fact that he was a man. Of course I could never have admitted that publicly, or even to Madame LeClair but that was alright for I was not much of a public person. I was simply delirious and happy when he and I were together. Not once did we argue, even as we debated. In the latter part of these weeks, however, his mood seemed to change. He was not angry with me, but generally upset with things, irritable. I assumed it was his home life, but since he never spoke of it, I felt it better to leave him to working things out on his own. 

I had been preparing for a large recital that Madame and I agreed on for the month of January. Lestat would sit listening as I worked through the compositions at the piano. Sometimes he assisted me... pointing out where a trill or a decrescendo would be a nice touch. On a damp evening in late October he came to the house entering without ringing as was now his manner and pleased me by its suggestion. One look at him was enough to see that his disposition was foul that night and out of concern I asked him what was the matter. 

"Them, Dennis....that is what is the matter. Everything they do irritates me anymore! Louis with his infernal whining and wanting to stay home and then the little princess, oh, she hates me. I swear I'd be better off rid of them both!" 

I had never seen him this upset, and didn't know whether to say silent or try to talk to him about these matters. I said to him, "Perhaps it is just that they don't understand you" and immediately felt foolish for such a common remark. 

He slumped down onto the piano bench beside where I sat and in a low voice he sadly said "No, perhaps they never have." Then louder he asked of me, "But you Dennis.... You understand do you? You understand me. Yes," He laughed "Yes, I think you do indeed. How can it be that you do not know? He slammed his hand in emphasis on the top of the piano and looked away when I flinched from his actions. He was worrying me now as such madness danced in those icy eyes of his. I went to stand beside him as he placed his hands on the mantle and stared into the embers in the untended fireplace. 

"I understand you" I said quietly. "Better than you might think, I understand." He slowly faced me as I continued. "I know ... what it is you have been doing to me, and I know why." 

His eyes grew wide as what I said took him by surprise. "What is this you're saying Dennis? What do you think you understand?" His voice was an odd mixture of sorrow and fear which I'd never heard before in him. I turned away from him and spoke, addressing not the emptiness of the room behind me but his ears for I knew he was waiting and listening. 

"We've known each other for months now. You know how I feel for you, I know you do. I sense your differences, every time you touch me and Lestat" I paused trying to find the right words with caution "These incidents, these spells I have had......they're not just in my imagination I know that you somehow make this happen to me when you kiss me the way that you do. You're not a mortal man. I know this, and I do not care. I love you." 

I held my breath as I stood with my back still to him. I waited to see what he would do. With everything in me I knew that what I had said to him was true. I did not fear him, I trusted him with my very life and my soul and if he was to destroy both for the discovery I had just revealed to him then this would be the moment. He came behind me and laid his hand hard onto my shoulder as he turned me to face him. The fire in his eyes was marked by something of a different nature. Redness, resembling tears welled thinly there and I paused to think about that for a brief moment before he swept me into his embrace and this time kissed me truly in a full passionate fashion that his brushes of my neck and face had never equaled. An odd sharpness touched my lips as they met his and it was then that he fully confirmed to me without words just what he was. I waited. I knew he could kill me, I anticipated my death even as I loved him. Yet his actions conveyed no such plan. My mind and heart filled with an intense mix of emotions as I felt his tongue touch mine ever so briefly, and tasted the odd coolness of his mouth. I gave in to the desire I felt. There was no way I could have resisted even if I had wanted to , which of course I didn't. Then almost in opposition to the gentleness of his kiss he pulled his lips from mine and with a roughness both exciting and frightening he let his fingers wound in my hair pull my head to the side abruptly. I knew what he was going to do. He'd done it before only far more subtly. I felt it all this time: His teeth piercing me there above the pulsing vein on my neck, the pain followed by the rush of desire and heat that flowed from my head to the very most intimate parts of me. The blackness ensued. I was falling....lost in a rapture so deep that I cared not if it were the last blackness I ever experienced. Then he broke free from me as violently as he had come upon me and turned away. He stood there for an instant and neither of us spoke. Then he headed for the door. 

"Lestat wait!" I cried to him, as he looked at me. Now I could see the terrible beauty of what those tears had been as they ran in streaks down his face. I wanted to weep as well, to explain that I didn't fear him....that I loved him and I always would. The desperate look on his face as he turned to leave was ripping me in two. 

"No Dennis!" he said holding his hand up, stopping me as I reached for him. "You do know... you understand the terrible truth. For your own safety, I must go." Then his eyes softened once again into those pools of deep blue that I wanted never to leave. He Pulled me to him once more and just as quickly released me. In the next instant he was gone. 

I crawled to the door weaker than a child and banged upon it futility crying out his name. "Lestat...Oh Lestat come back!" I wept as I fought the odd grayness that tinged my vision. "I love you Lestat, God help me, I love you...." But those were to be the last words I would utter that evening, there in my foyer to the empty air. The grayness changed to black and I was still. 


	6. Untitled - Six

When I woke it must have been well after midnight. The candles I had lit had burned down to near extinction leaving the room dark and ominous upon my revival. I reached up to grasp the edge of my piano to steady myself as I struggled to my feet on legs I found to be weak and trembling.

What had happened? I leaned on the top of the piano and lowered my head onto my folded arms, as i fought to remember. The kiss of a lover, yes and the pain. It had been brief, enormous and complex and as I recalled this my fingers went to my neck and discovered there the small, rough wounds he had made. I gasped aloud in surprise, perhaps in finding confirmation of what I believed, what I knew. Lestat was not human. He was what the populace referred to as a vampire. A blood drinker. Yet, how could that be I wondered? How could a creature such as this in our modern world, and more importantly why had he chosen me as a companion and would he let me live now that he knew I had found him out? So many "why's" and "what if's" filled my head that I thought surely I would again pass out and that I could not afford right now, there was too much to know, too much to learn.

I walked slowly in the darkness until I bumped into a chair where I gratefully sank to think things over, or at least attempt to. I felt extremely weak and troubled. Of course to me it didn't matter what Lestat _was_. What mattered to me was how we shared such laughter and interests. How I'd felt in his arms as his glittering eyes met mine. I sighed loudly into the empty room hoping that my thoughts would just go away, which was foolish because I knew they would not. I remembered him then, little details from the first time I'd seen him until tonight. At Madame LeClair's he'd been the attractive aristocrat mingling with the crowd, watching me as he did so. Had they known, any of them, what he was? Has he taken life from those people after they'd left Madame's home? I shuddered. The night in the cemetery made perfect sense now, the way he'd followed me, in stealth and silence. The restaurants, and the way he'd waited on me as I dined... studying me with ... Ah hell! I slammed my fist on the arm of the chair. It was no use to deny it, to myself or to anyone. I was more in love with him than I ever had been with anyone and I knew in every way that he could love me just the same as I did him. That sounded ludicrous to my mind even as I thought it but it was true. No matter what he was, man or vampire, he owned me.

I felt a mad laugh welling deep within me, as it begged to be released. No, I would not let this lead me down the road to insanity. It mattered not after all.... I would no more leave Lestat now upon discovering this than I would have if I had found him to have some terrible disease of contagion. I couldn't let it weaken me, and pull me toward madness. What I must do now is go to him immediately. I had to know of his plans and his feelings about what he'd done, and about what I knew.

I donned my overcoat and left the house headed toward the Rue Royale. I knew where to go from the few brief times we had stopped on our outings, when he had wanted to pick up this or that and then just as quickly head back to me in his carriage to take me off to some establishment. This was the home he shared with the beautiful one, Louis and of the times we had stopped there I had never set foot inside the place for fear of causing some upset between them. I didn't know of course if they were lovers, but I surmised that they were and a party as interested in Lestat as I had become had no place within that home, if such a situation were indeed the case with them. I shook my head as I walked. None of the thoughts racing through my head would sit still longer than a moment and pondering them individually was impossible.

Soon enough I found myself in front of the townhouse studying its stillness. On the upper floor, lamps burned low and I could hear the faint sounds of a piano through one of the opened windows. Was this him, playing perhaps to soothe himself after some stressful thing as I often did? Surely it must be him and my heart seemed to lift a bit at that thought. I mounted the few front steps and after a moment of hesitation I rang the bell. What would I say to him? Was he even alone here now, and could he possibly feel....My inner ramblings were halted by the opening of the large door in front of me.

For many seconds I was mesmerized beyond speaking ability as I grasped what in fact I was looking at. It was Louis who had answered the door and now stood looking at me with liquid green eyes. I had to force myself to look away, or I feared he would hypnotize me and render me powerless. Against what I couldn't have said, but that was definitely my feeling at that moment.

"Lestat," I said hesitantly, "I must speak with him, if you don't mind."

"He is not here I'm afraid." He said in a lustrous voice. "He is ...gone away"

"Whatever do you mean, 'gone away'?" I asked him, disbelieving. "He left me no word of this!" I realized I sounded insolent and impatient but I paid that no mind. I was angry. Was he bluffing me? Was Lestat upstairs and he simply would not tell me? In telling Louis that I felt Lestat would have let me know, I likely revealed that I was more than a mere acquaintance of his but again, that did not matter to me. He surely knew where Lestat had spent his nights away from their home. I could tell he knew just by the look of subdued fire in his eyes. I placed my hands on my hips, undaunted and asked for Lestat once more.

"I tell you friend, he is not here!" He insisted with his own impatience. "I'm telling you the truth despite what you may think. I have no desire nor reason to lie to you Dennis."

So Lestat had told him my name. I looked at him a moment longer and it dawned on me that he had seen my thoughts as the one I was searching for had done. I stepped off of the little porch and turned to walk as I had come back along the street. Lestat was gone. Perhaps he had told Louis to send me away if I asked for him, he regretted what he had done and Louis had won. I could see them in my mind kissing and forgiving one another as I was dismissed into the past. All hope left me as I walked in the thickening fog, and spoke aloud to myself, to the air, to no one.

The sound of rapidly approaching footsteps halted my progress and under the nauseous glow of a gas lamp Louis turned me to face him. His face of his shone smooth and pale in this strange hazy light fairly begging my fingertips to touch it but I resisted.

"Wait one moment, would you!" I heard him say "He did leave you something..."

He reached into his dark overcoat which appeared in this light to be made of silk or some other finery and he produced his wallet. An address, I hoped, perhaps written on some scrap of paper for me in haste. He rifled through it and soon thrust several bills into my palm in a bunch, but no such paper did I see. It must have been several hundred dollars he gave me, but I didn't care? He thought this would pacify me? The leathery money flapped in the breeze as I stood there holding it while I stared at him.

"He told you to give me _this_?" I asked, looking down at the cash _"Money?_ He must have said something else!" My gaze held his and in those emerald colored mirrors I saw myself and how desperate I looked. A few pedestrians looked our way as my voice peaked and Louis touched my shoulder gently, guiding me out of street lamp's glow and into the shadows beneath a heavily mossed oak tree

"Put the money away, would you?" He said to me with some hint of exasperation as he walked back and forth. He looked at me directly, and continued "Lestat told me that he wanted you to go on with your music. That was very important to him. He knew you would be upset by his leaving but he was insistent that you continue to play because he..."

I interrupted him. "Didn't he say anything else?" I demanded. I felt on the verge of throwing a fit right there on the street but other than making me look like a lunatic that would serve no purpose.

The sound of Louis voice brought me out of my impending breakdown. "What do you want me to say to you?" He said in a voice that was somehow alluring but tinged with anger. "He had to leave! He took a river boat to St. Louis. The war, you know, is imminent there and he had to take care of some business."

He waited for me to answer, and I merely looked at him as I tried to fathom what he'd said. It made sense of course, the war dragged on and yes it was absolutely possible that this was why Lestat had gone. He himself had mentioned business to me in Missouri and if what Louis said was true then he would be back. Something in my heart though was not convinced by his words. Maybe it was the way he had not faced me as he said these things, or maybe pure instinct led me to think there was something he deliberately hid from me.

"But it makes no sense... why did he go?" I said more to myself in a whisper.

With his eyes seeming to soften then he came to me and placed his hand on my shoulders. He spoke to me slowly as if he were addressing some mentally deficient child of the streets.

"Is there something you need? I'm sure that he would want me to provide for you."

"Damn all that! He was my friend!" I narrowed my eyes and stepped away from him hating that tone in his voice as if he wondered why he was the one who in the end had to care for some stray Lestat had found and didn't want anymore.

"Listen here," He said stepping toward me even as I retreated from him "You're obviously not well." He brushed my neck with the tip of his finger as he said this. The wounds there, almost imperceptible but perhaps he'd thought to look for them. Living with Lestat as he did I would almost guarantee that he had wounds of his own. Again the laughter within me threatened, and feigning ignorance I fingered my neck absently in reply to what he'd said. I made some comment about the ever present insects in this damned city as if that were a suitable excuse and offered him no more than this. Let him think what he wanted. He knew the real truth anyway. I knew that he did.

I turned away in defeat before he could see the tears that had freely begun to flow from my eyes.there was really nothing more for he and I to discuss, so I walked off, and he let me go. I wanted to run through The Quarter shouting Lestat's name. I wanted him to find me and to hold me in his arms once more telling me that Louis was wrong and that he would never leave me. The Quarter would not have produced my Lestat tonight. Louis wasn't lying to me, I felt now, and knowing Lestat was gone there was nothing for me to do but wander home and wait to see what tomorrow would bring. I thought of Lestat, as I walked toward Nashville Street and my empty house there. I pictured him in all his beauty. His smile, his full laughter and his talent at the piano. These images calmed me, but then I saw us together in my mind, the way we must have looked as he was... His lips on mine, his breath cool on my neck ... _drinking from me_ I heard myself say. There was no calm in this remembrance and I fully set my mind to having my own drink when I got home. Many of them to be exact. I shoved my hands deep into my pockets and trudged on as I wished I could forget this whole night. My fingers found the bills Louis had given to me. Money... I'd been without it most of my life and it surely was no replacement for what I wanted this night. I pulled it out absently and with my arms at my side I let it blow free of my hands on the breeze. Four hundred dollars or more floating on the streets of The Quarter at this hour. Someone would be happy to find it. Money from an angel who'd gone in pursuit of a devil. I was still laughing through my tears as I stepped into my home.

~~*****~~

On the far side of the parlour there rested on a silver tray a welcoming bottle of brandy. Like a beacon in the darkness it called, offering to calm me and lessen my woes if only for a little while. I grabbed the bottle and sank into a chair. There was no noise save for my own tired breathing as I filled the glass which I'd also captured from the tray. The first two shots hardly touched my tongue as I downed them rapidly bit the third I poured slowly and savoured its own particular brand of bitterness as it went down. I closed my eyes and let my hands fall to the side of the chair loosening their grip on the bottle and the glass. My posture slumped further and I breathed deeply while I closed my eyes, hoping I suppose that all these thoughts would leave me and I would simply fall asleep. My wish was granted and sleep did find me for a few brief moments but then I jerked up in the chair from a subconscious thought that was gone as soon as it had awakened me.

My eyes were heavy as they tried to focus in the darkness of the room while the branches outside the window cast shapes along the wall that could have seemed all too real had I let them. I got up slowly, and walked to the window where I looked out at the empty street. There was nothing but a faint breeze blowing the tops of the trees and deep shadows that held only what ones imagination would allow. I turned away from that nothingness and walked past the piano plunking a few of the keys absently as I did so. I knew then what I wanted to do.

I bent to pick up the bottle from the floor and headed out the front door only have remembering to pull it closed behind me. I needed to talk to someone, and the only logical choice was Madame LeClair. Her house was just a few blocks from here, so why not pay her a visit. I hadn't seen her in weeks, as she had been occupied with her new beau, and I had been occupied with... I didn't bother with the glass at that thought and instead brought the bottle to my lips and drew in a sizable mouthful of the liquor as I headed down the sidewalk unsteadily.

I walked along enjoying the stillness of the night save for the occasional dog bark or rustling in a darkened corner which was probably some wild thing on the prowl for human scraps. I kicked a large rock down the street as I went and so distracted was my mind that I nearly passed Madame's house. I had to back up a few steps to her little sidewalk and realized as I followed it up to the porch, how much I missed her at times. I had liked living here, it had been healing for me and was truly glad that she was such a friend to me. When I pushed the little button on the wall, the indoor bell rang loudly announcing my presence to anyone who cared to know it. There was no answer so I rang a second time. My finger pressed on it a bit longer than necessary as I peered at some type of insect crawling by my foot. Still, there was no response. I bent to look at the thing and wondered if I should just wait until tomorrow when I heard her open the door slowly.

"Dennis? Is that you?" She asked in a voice rough with sleep.

I faltered a bit as I stood. "Uh, Hello" I stammered, "Maybe it's later than I thought eh?" I was the lamest thing I could have said but that was what came out of my mouth and hearing it brought my long suppressed laughter to a head. I leaned on the door frame feeling my shoulders shake in rhythm to my private amusement.

Annoyed, but in the manner of an old friend willing to put up with such behavior Madame said, "Get in here Dennis..." I looked up to see her roll those sleepy eyes of hers in exasperation of my laughter - though she was smiling too. I went through the door as she followed behind me and took the near empty decanter from my hand. She clunked it down loudly on some table as she followed me to where I had deposited myself on the couch in a very unmannerly posture.

"What is this about now Dennis?" She asked from the chair that faced me. In her speech I detected her french heritage, as my name came out _deh neeze_. I sat up now and tried to appear more subdued and proper. I didn't want to make her mad. Even though she was my friend I supposed there was only so much nonsense she would tolerate. How was I to tell her what was wrong with her dear deh neeze? She came to sit beside me and I sighed loudly.

"Come here you silly" She said and extended her arms to me. I moved into her embrace grateful for its meaning and the warmth of her body. In one brief moment I imagined moving to kiss her, how it would be to touch her breast through the thin robe she wore, and to explore her body with my own. Maybe this would be the secret to my forgetting what I felt for Lestat.

As if she sensed these thoughts, she pulled away somewhat. Her eyes, now awake fully met mine and again she asked what was troubling me. I returned her stare solemnly, thinking how beautiful she was, fresh from her dreams as if the night had washed her face clean of concerns and cares to prepare it for a new day.

"Dennis," She said "You've woken me, now you may as well tell me what is bothering you. She was not angry. She wore a concerned smile on her full lips as she said this to me. "There is always a reason for your drinking like you've done tonight, isn't there? What is it? Surely this is not about your dear mother, or brother.... you have healed from that haven't you?"

I almost wished it was the old familiar losses in which I wallowed. The pain then would not be so confusing and new. The torment in my soul tonight was no old friend. I looked away from her then knowing that there was no easy way to reveal what was bothering me. She might be appalled if I confessed it to her completely. Worse, she might think I was a complete madman and fear for her own safety.

"For goodness sake," She continued "Have you killed someone? Have you robbed DeGlass's bank? You look as though you've lost your best friend Dennis!"

That caused me to draw in my breath.

She must have realized she'd hit the mark because she apologized and continued to ask questions in that direction. She became excited in that peculiar female way, and went on to guess who it might be that I was so "love stricken" over.

"But my dear, I didn't even know you were involved with anyone. Who is it? Oh my.. Cynthia? Or is it Marie Dembroux? She always did have her eye on you though she's not one to get involved with in my opinion, did you know that she..."

"It isn't a woman" I interrupted.

"Well then what is it?" She asked, confused. The puzzled look remained on her face just a second longer as she understood my meaning. She didn't look offended by this news, and I hadn't expected her to be really, it was just the sort of disclosure one didn't hear aloud.

"So it is a young man that has your heart then?" She asked. I nodded in affirmation, though I didn't exactly agree with the young part of her sentence. I would not tell her who it was. I couldn't. If Lestat _when Lestat_ came back this would have to be a very discreet thing between him and I. Oh what was I thinking? I didn't even know if he would want that, or if he would even return to me... to Louis. My thoughts swelled and raced once more.

"I cannot tell you his name... I won't do that, so don't ask me to" I said to her as I rose from the couch, the tears begging to be shed once again.

 "I understand," She said coming up behind me. I truly believed she did understand for she was rare in her ideals and conceptions for a woman of that time. "What concerns me Dennis is that this has you so upset. Love in any form should not bring grief. Tell me, what is it then? Has he left you for another? Or does he not know of your feelings?"

I sat down once more and explained to her the best I could without revealing the whole truth that she never could have understood anyway. When I had finished she got up and came to kneel in front of me. She offered to get me a glass of water and I accepted more for the opportunity of a few moments alone to collect myself than out of thirst. When she went to the other room I pulled myself up onto the couch and in moments I knew nothing but the sleep of exhaustion.

When I woke it was late the next afternoon and I was in one of the guest rooms upstairs guessing that I must have woken up and put myself here. If Madame herself had put me here it wouldn't have been the first time and I laughed at the thought but stopped abruptly when I felt the stabbing pain in my head and the clenching in my stomach. I fell back onto the pillow listening to the voices I heard downstairs; Madame and some gentleman. I figured it was likely Mr. Armbruster her lover and wondered how he would feel if he knew I was here.

I stayed again that night with Madame, talking and this time not drinking. I played for her bits of the compositions I'd been preparing for our planned New Year recital and she was thrilled with them. She stood behind me as I played and kissed me on the top of my head affectionately when I had finished. She spoke only one time of the one I was in love with, and that was to assure me that she knew "everything would be alright." When I left for my house that evening I too felt as if my future would be 'alright' whether it was with Lestat or not, though I desperately hoped he would choose to love me as I had him.

 


	7. Untitled - Seven

A noise near the front door caught my attention, and I walked out into the front parlor to look in that direction. What I saw there I will never forget. Surely my feelings in the past few days were about to be punished by a demon from the very depths of hell I thought. What was ... I couldn't move. I stood frozen in place as the figure across the room seemed to grow in size and approach me. It was a skeletal thing, pale white in color as a ghost might be only far more real than any specter I had ever read of. It moved toward me slowly and impossibly alive. This thing it was human, but how could it be? Stringy masses of hair hung in the face, or what at least resembled a face with its veins bulging there above its eyes and the skin seeming to glow it was so pale. Still I remained motionless. I must have been hallucinating I thought. Certainly the words which were not my own, yet filled my head were wrong.

 _Lestat. Yes, it is me!_ His voice said to my mind _You knew I would come back for you, that is what you wanted. Don't be frightened Dennis, I need you. You see what I am now. You can make me whole again Dennis, you can!_

My knees trembled and as I looked into that scarred mask of his face I knew these words to be true even as I did not want to believe them. How could this be my love, my Lestat? What had happened to make him as he was now, horrifying to my eyes?

_You know how this happened...who was responsible._

The child. I paused as the thought came to me. The one I knew nothing of. One that he had made. She had done this unspeakable thing! Louis had done nothing to stop her and he had known all this when I spoke to him! Insufferable liar! Louis was one of th as well and he had lied right toy face. I hated both of them in that moment more than I had ever hated anyone. They had done this to Lestat, whom I loved more than my own life. Yet what could I do? It was enough that I now knew what he was but this... is thing he had become, how could I help him now? He moved in front of me and reached up with one of his hands to touch my face. I involuntarily shied away from the cold leathery feel of his skin on mine. Never would I have thought myself capable of facing such a hideous image, like some monster from a nightmare which I could not wake from yet, I stood there absolutely unable to run. Mixed in with my emotions of amazement and horror there was still a deep love for him and every bit of it reflected back me when I looked into those eyes that still glimmered in the marble-like flesh.

 _I love you as my own Dennis. Give yourself to me and I will love you forever._ Then fainter I heard, _.....always_

As my mind heard his words I saw with them the images he was showing me: His drinking from me and my doing the same from him. He was comforting me with words unspoken, and yet I had heard all I needed to hear. I found myself as easily captivated by his words now as I had been just days ago. That he was this now seemed to hold little importance to my heart. With my voice I responded to him. "Yes Lestat, take my life from me for your own. I..." I turned away from the image of him and softly continued. "I do not want a life without you"

Weakly he approached me, dragging himself with determination. I again faced him, and he fell into me. With his body against mine he pushed me ever so slowly backward as he spoke in my mind and held me with his eyes. We wound up against the back wall of the parlor's anteroom where I had lit the fire earlier. I saw now as I looked to it that the logs were barely burning. I reached up to touch his face finally, and felt what my eyes had already seen, the scarring there that the sudden ill pallor of his ski couldn't hide. How old was he? How many years had he lived since he himself had been given what had made him what he was. The skin beneath my fingers felt like that of an elderly man who'd spent rough years out in the weather. So pale and grey... water d done this. I saw the swamp in my mind and with it came the sound of the anguish he had found there.

_Help me then?_

A thick pause with no sounds but our breathing.

_Yes....._

I answered without words, and he lowered himself to my neck. He wrapped his arms around me lovingly as he prepared to take what he needed from me. A feeling of surrealness came over me, as though I were seeing this happen to someone else. There was no fear in me, no regret at having let him do this. He needed me and I was acting out of love, which was the only thing I could have done. I would have given my life for his even before I knew what his nature required, or how deep that sacrifice might be. Now I did not know what would happen to me, I knew only that I did not want him to exist in pain and disfigurement. Helping him was never a question.

This time there was nothing unexpected for me in his touch. I felt his teeth, his fangs, penetrate me and my blood begin to trickle out of the wound which they made. His lips pulled at the tender flesh and while I felt a small amount of pain, the feeling was far more erotic than I could have imagined under the circumstances. I sighed loudly as the life giving fluid began to flow more steadily to the one who sought it. He pulled away from me and I saw the fresh redness of my blood on his lips. His coloring had a subtle difference to it already though it was still dreadful. The skin had turned more ashen than white and I thought to myself, _my very blood did that for him!_

He backed up and sat himself down in the very chair where I had cried for him nights before. I stood against the wall too overwhelmed to move. My skin was alive with goose flesh and despite the blood he had taken I felt a certain flush fill my cheeks. I as in a state of shock I think. Exhilaration overpowered exhaustion, and I felt a feeble smile cross my face as I watched him. He was not done with this yet, I knew. I read that from him. In his mind he saw himself repeating the scene with me. Oddly when I felt that, read that from his mind I detected something very similar to arousal of a human type but yet something far more intense, far more intimate. My own thoughts were not so different from this.

Though I was weakened, I was able to move about. The wound in my neck was subtle as I ran my fingers across it. Somehow it was no longer bleeding. I moved to throw more wood into the fire. This cast a warm amber glow into the room and when I turned to look at Lestat he had closed his eyes and wore a pensive expression. I walked to him slowly, sank down on the rug near his feet and leaned to touch his face, noticing that it seemed not as cold. He opened his eyes and pulled me into his arms. He sank his sharp fangs into me once more on the opposite side of my throat. He leaned up in the chair and I sank into his lap helpless against his actions. In my weaker condition from his earlier drink of me, this draught was causing me pain, and I saw the colors of my carpet swirl into mysterious shapes under my eyes as I looked down. I could hear him as he took the blood from me. He paused long enough to catch a breath and he moaned loudly in what sounded like agony and rapture combined. I felt the blackness coming upon me and my limbs went limp as I lay there waiting and wondering if this would be the final moment for he and I.

How long after that I did not know but I opened my eyes and found myself lying at his feet as he sat there. He looked down at me. I gasped at seeing the change in him. The scars were still there but no longer did he appear whiter than stone and bloated he had earlier. He was slowly coming back to me, my Lestat. I fell back to the rug, unable to rise again. He came down on top of me and once more he drank. This time the pain was intense as he pulled the last of my blood from me. I felt the slow hand of death reach for me and the world turned gray as it had done but a few other times in my life. This I knew was the end for me. Death was at the door, waiting....I reached up and grasped him as he looked down on me with a frightening gleam in his eyes and a new color to is face. He was revived, his pain was no more. I could tell that much and I wondered at it for but a moment longer. My mind was too hazy to think further. The grayness faded to black quickly and I whispered his name. That I died loving him, in his embrace, was more that I could have hoped for and I was happy.

The wet drops touched my lips and I vaguely thought of rain, as if I were laying outside in it. This was warmer than rain and I moved my tongue onto my lips to investigate what it truly was. Sweet love! It was from him. Faintly I murmured his name as I cked my lips. Smoky and dark were the words that came to my mind as I tasted his...yes, his blood. Impossible, I thought but no... that is what it was. He had moved over me and opened his wrist over my mouth. Now this was to save me as I had saved him?

_Drink..... yes Dennis... for you now,.... with me...._

His words faded and were gone in my mind like a dream as he lowered his arm toward me. I hesitated for a moment and then I pulled at the flesh he offered. I sucked weakly at first and then more intensely as I began to feel in the pit of my stomach, in my entire body, a hunger such as I had never known before. Truly it was more of a desire that this his fluids now fulfilled. The very blood I had given him flowed into my mouth and I felt an instant renewal somewhere deep within my body and my mind....something I could not touch or explain but it was there burning like a secret fire I had longed for all of my life.

He pulled himself away from me, even though I was starving for more of him. His blood burned in my stomach, something within it seemed to urge me on, to drink more of it into me but this he would not allow. I lay there on the soft cushion of rug, panting and unable to speak for many moments. When at last I realized that my visit with death had been postponed I looked up at Lestat. He was sitting again in the chair, looking at me beatifically. Was this ritual complete I wondered? I asked him quietly.

"I am the same as you now....the same.. I am a.."

"A vampire Dennis?" He asked with a slight laugh. "No. I am to weak just now to give you the gift you say you readily will accept from me."

"I will accept it!" I retorted, though I too was to weak to be very angry with him. "I will accept, and then I will be yours forever."

"Forever?" He said in something of a question and statement together. "Ah, yes....forever." He closed his eyes and I lay back onto the carpet beneath me, closing my own as he had done. Sleep overtook me rapidly and there were no dreams that could compete with what realities I'd been through. My mind was silent.

It was the feeling which slowly awakened me: A pulsing heat on my breast caused a hot trail to spread throughout my body. Lestat's hair, nothing near its blonde glory, clung to the skin of my chest and I looked down to at once see as I felt him taking blood from me again. He drank from my breast like a child would its mother, and I in turn wrapped my arms around him sleepily, as I arched my back and let him nurse.

In the next several hours we replayed the scene in various ways as he took the strength from me again and again into himself. He gave no more of himself to me for some time, until in the hours before the dawn he forced himself to stop.

 

"You are too weak now Dennis. I will kill you if I do not stop." he leaned close to me, his breath cool in my ear as I felt his still leathery skin press against my cheek. "Do you want me to kill you? Shall I leave you for dead, end your suffering here d now or will I bring you to me?" He was talking to himself, not to me really but I answered him in a mere whisper.

"Bring...to....you" His lips caressed my face gently, as I lay there under him. Would he do this he had promised or would he take the rest of me to sustain him and leave me as I was to die here alone?

"No Dennis," He whispered as he read my thoughts. "You will be eternal.."

He raised up off of me and I saw him in one quick motion slice a thin line on his neck, just above his collarbone. How he moaned when he did this! He grabbed me up off the floor to sit limply in his arms. I sought this place he had made for me, knowing at it was he expected me to do. My lips found the odd texture of his skin there and latched onto him. From this cut I had thought to be so little, fast, thick blood flowed into my mouth and I thought I might suffocate from it, so much was I taking at once. While I drew my new life in, I heard in my mind the faint sounds of a melody I used to play, distant and haunting. Had this been my destiny all along? Now I would be forever. I would be immortal. How amazing to me. It was beyond my comprehension and I felt tears fall down onto my face, and I broke away from him sobbing quietly, overwhelmed by it all.

"Easy...yes, that's it...." He said in between his own gasps. This must have hurt him, but for the moment I could not think of that as I slowed myself and finally felt him push me away once more. "Now Dennis...now you will become. Your body will die its mortal death, and when you awaken you shall be one of the immortals...just as you wanted."

"You wanted..." I started to say, I was going to tell him that it wasn't only me. The words were stopped short by something which felt like an explosion in my chest. My heart! Dear God in Heaven this was pain as I had never known. No Lestat I thought.. am dying now, I am going to die and be dead forever!! My mind screamed against the blackness that enfolded it. I wanted to scream but there was no air for my lungs to produce the effect. The noise inside of me was riotous. Lestat!! I grasped at the air seeking him and found nothing. Where was he? My God, Lestat... did he leave me? No! Can you not hear this Lestat? I felt one last thunderclap deep in my center, and the noise crashed into nothingness.

 


	8. Untitled - Eight

When next I opened my eyes I was weeping. Such a night! I looked up at him as he sat there and he smiled at me beatifically. Lestat and I were one now. The nights I had dreamt of him possessing me had come true, in a way I had never consciously anticipated.

"It is," I asked hearing a new timbre to my voice "It is over now? I am a vampire? Immortal?"

Weak laughter came from him. "Yes Dennis. Immortal."

His eyes were dull despite the feeding he'd done from me. I knew he was still weak and more, I knew he was hurting inside from everything. This knowledge pained me more than anything I had just suffered through and I vowed to make it right for him. I intended to be by his side forevermore.

Towards morning he sat watching while I pulled the heavy drapes and covered them further with anything I could find. Quietly he spoke to me, telling me brief details of how he himself had become as he was. I couldn't in any way grasp all that he was mumbling, so incoherent he was in his thoughts. I caught names, and then I would see his eyes cloud with darkness as he paused to remember in silence. It was then that I moved to his side and held him. Whether anyone saw what we were as devils, I had no doubt that he had a heart and that there was nothing more I could do to ease it than offer my embrace. It was entwined we remained as the sun stole over the horizon and forced us into the slumber we could not resist.

In what seemed to be a very short time my eyes were opened again. I realized then that the whole day had passed and now evening had once more come upon us. I sat up and not finding him next to me I called out. He answered from the window bench so faintly that I almost didn't hear him and at this I rose and walked toward him there. there was a dramatic clarity to this vision I owned now. Immortal vision. My eyes fell to the deep scars that still marked his once smooth and beautiful face. I wondered to myself if I would ever again see that vision of him. How, I wondered as well, could those who claimed to love him so do this to him? As his eyes searched the darkness beyond the glass I knew he too was thinking of them though to what extent it was impossible to tell.

"Lestat, " I quietly said, interrupting his solace. I placed my hand on his shoulder gently.

"What is it Dennis?" He said in a tone that was somewhat abrupt.

"I'm," I started to say before he cut me off. He placed his hand atop mine and turned his head to look up at me as I stood there by his side.

"You're hungry" He finished. An almost wistful smile tried to play upon his face as he continued. "You don't have to say it. I can see it, and why wouldn't you be? Go out into the city Cher." He sighed. "It's all waiting for you."

"Come with me then!" I said. "I don't know what to do Lestat!"

"Like this Dennis I should venture out? I think not." He said with a small scoff. Then quieter "Don't be ridiculous anyway, you will do just fine. Instinct counts you know."

I turned slowly away from him then lost in my thoughts as I wandered to the bath. I felt still dirty from the horrors of the previous night and cleaned myself quickly and discreetly hoping in the meantime that he would change his mind and come with me. When I stepped back into the parlor he was no longer by the window but instead was lying on the pallet we'd made on the floor to cradle us as we slept the daylight away.

I wouldn't ask him again. The last thing I wanted was to become a nuisance while he was in this fragile state of mind. I knelt down beside him and brushed his cheek with my lips.

"Don't worry about Lestat." He said, his eyes unblinking.

"I love you" was all I said to him in reply before I heeded his advice and stepped out into the night.

The differences astounded me from the moment the air hit my face. The gas lamp on the street corner seemed alive with its own energy. The trees themselves reached out for me, while the darkened grass below my feet sank with my steps like some magic carpet from a far off land. Further on, the stained glass of the cathedral windows shimmered, reminding me all to well of the very blood that I sought. It made the hunger surge within me barring any further rapture over my surroundings for the time being. There would be time for that later I thought to myself and then I couldn't help but to laugh aloud as I once more realized the truth of what I was. Emotions tumbled though me. No more sickness, no pain or death! My senses? How wonderfully enhanced! I wanted at that moment to race through the city and rediscover everything. First though, I had to feed.

I walked into the center of The Quarter, keeping to the dimmer shadows near the buildings and nearly salivating as the mortals passed by me. I could smell the blood within them and in my mind I could vividly see myself piercing their veins, and relishing the hot liquid as it flowed into me rich and fulfilling. Life for death and death for life. Not here I told myself. I knew that I must go where both the lights and the observers were few. I smiled wryly as I watched them walking by uncaring of my presence. Lestat was right; Our senses were potent.

Toward the wharf I wandered and it was there, as expected, I found the vagrants and the drunkards gathered in small numbers near the unsteady facades of the warehouses. Their laughter reached my ears sounding as dull as I knew their senses would be. Easy prey, and I moved in with none of the fear I'd have felt only a few days earlier had I ventured here. I crouched down behind a half-empty wooden crate and waited for my opportunity to come. I was no Lestat after all. I imagined he would have strode up to the lot of them and had his choice, but no, I could not. I stayed where I was letting thoughts such as these fill my head until I heard one of them approaching as I had hoped, likely to relieve himself more discreetly, as if it really mattered to his companions. When he drew close enough to me I moaned loudly from where I now slouched against the crate as if wounded. I wanted to appear harmless and defenseless, and evidently I did for he came closer still, muttering curious words to himself. I had cash, or so he thought. I was well dressed after all, and most certainly not from this part of town. I played the part, whining for his help and holding out my hand. He asked then if I was hurt but I could see from the look in his eyes that he really did not care. I hadn't expected him too. When he leaned in to me in mock assistance and patted the lining of my jacket to feel for any bills or wallet I made my move and in an instant I had sunk my teeth into his fleshy neck. He was a large man and he rallied against me with all his strength. I held on and was surprised by how effortless it was to overpower him. His blood flowed over my lips and into my eager mouth as he slowly succumbed to the affect. This was nothing near what I'd felt on drinking from Lestat and yet I saw his life, images of him and the hardships he had faced. He was a tired man, who was not here as a drunkard but was merely alone. In the end, as his life slipped away from him, he was afraid. In his last breath I heard him whisper, 'forgive me'. I let him slip from my arms ungracefully and I laughed low and thick in my throat, still reeling from that sensation that the taking of the blood produced. His plea fell on deaf ears and I moved away from him, ready to go back to the townhouse. As I walked I touched the tips of my fangs with my fingertip and contemplated what I had just done. I felt no guilt nor remorse at having killed. It seemed this existence was what I'd been missing my whole life.

As I stepped out of the shadows and walked back the way I had come I saw a young boy in a darkened alcove. I looked at him and caught his soft wary smile as he stepped forward a bit allowing me to see him more fully. The wind caught his thin black hair and whipped in from his shoulders and into his pale face. A wraithful vision he was and I approached him tentatively, thinking for a moment that he might in fact be one of my kind. No, I understood as I studied him he was not out for blood but for companionship and money he would give anything of himself. Softly I spoke to him while holding his nervous eye with my own and extending my hand in assurance that I was not there to harm him. I had other things in mind. When he came to my side I told him that it was not I, but a gentleman friend of mine, temporarily incapacitated, who desired a companion. He smiled in understanding and continued to walk with me back toward the house. We didn't talk on the way as there was nothing to say and I wasn't going to lie to him beyond what I'd already done, though with a smile I realized it hadn't really been a lie.

When we at last reached the steps I noticed him looking at the house appreciatively. Likely he had not seen a fine home such as mine in some time and I gathered from his mind that he hoped to have more than just money in his pocket by the time he left. Maybe I could keep him on as a house boy of sorts. I laughed out loud at that thought, which seemed to startle him out of his fantasies.

"What are you laughing at?" He asked nervously. This one had seen nights that made him suspicious of even an innocent laugh.

"Nothing Cher, nothing" I answered, calming myself. "Come on, my friend is waiting."

He was. Though the room was dark, I found my way to light a kerosene lamp which cast its dim shadows over the room and revealed a figure sitting in a chair moved near the empty and cold fireplace. His back was to us and when he called out to me the quietness of the room was broken. The boy sat himself on the sofa while I went to Lestat.

"I've brought someone," I said hesitantly "For you. You need to drink Lestat, to feed." He looked up at me and for a moment I didn't quite know whether he would laugh or strike me. Then slowly he turned so that he could see the boy spared the young man the sight of him. I stood by his side also looking to the boy, seeing eyes now wider with wonder at what might happen and too, with desire perhaps.

"He's beautiful Dennis" I heard Lestat whisper. I leaned in closer as he continued to speak. "What do you suggest? That I go and talk to him hideous as I am still? You subdue him. Only then will I take him. It shouldn't be too difficult after all, he is fairly undressing you with his eyes." I again looked at the boy and smiled at him as I left Lestat's side. Was this refusal on Lestat's part truly due to his appearance or was it more that he wanted to watch me? I didn't care.

"Your name ...did I catch it on our walk here?" I sat next to him and caressed his cheek with the back of my hand. I could smell his youthful blood, his desire and pain mingled within it, making me want him just as badly as he wanted me if not necessarily in the same manner.

"My name is Christian" He stammered, his head leaning to receive my touch, his lips parting slightly. Christian, I thought, almost laughing. Perfect. I looked at Lestat and I knew he could wait no longer.

"Christian," I said "Let me help you off with that tired shirt you are wearing. Perhaps my friend and I can spare you something more luxurious. Would you like that?" He nodded as I lifted the fabric over his head, again observing how beautiful he was. Tragic really, but I couldn't think of that. I brushed his lips with mine tenderly and heard a small sigh escape him when I leaned against him, pushing him back onto the cool tapestry fabric of the sofa. His hands found my hair and pulled me closer to him. I let my tongue move slowly over that vein in his neck that begged me to rip through it. No, I had brought him for Lestat who to my surprise had come to kneel beside me and offer his touches to the boy who was delirious beyond caring whose hands were where. I moved to the side and in the next instant saw Lestat take him in a quickly vicious move. He had pulled the boys hair to the side as if to reach his ear with heated words but instead sank his gleaming fangs deep into his jugular. A loud gasp escaped the boy briefly in a mixture few ever know of exquisite pain and intense desire. It was something to rival any normal human climax and I stroked Christian's face as his head lolled to the side and Lestat took his life. How could he know that what he was doing on this night was far greater appreciated and needed than any deed he's ever performed for cash.

A moan of wonderful satisfaction escaped Lestat as he tore himself from his pleasure. I looked at him and then to Christian who wore a strange expression. He had died quietly and in pleasure, and now my maker was just a slight bit more himself. I closed the boys eyes with my hand just before I felt Lestat grab me by my shoulders.

"Why did you do this Dennis!" He said, as he held me close to him. His face was colored slightly now from the freshness of blood flowing now inside of him. He demanded an explanation for my bringing the boy to him and I pulled myself away from him and stood up.

"It is my home Lestat." I said, somewhat annoyed that he was questioning me after I'd done such a thing out of concern for him. "If I want to bring a hundred mortals here to kill I can do so. You needed him Lestat and you really ought to get used to the fact that I will do anything for you" I gave him a long look and then turned toward the window. He came to stand behind me.

"I'm sorry Dennis. Really," He paused, his hand on my shoulder "We just need to be careful. You'll learn that. And I," His voice quieted as he leaned into me "I need to learn to trust you. You're all I have now."

I turned to him, folding him into my arms and simply held him in the dim silence of the room. Once more my emotions I could not name for there were so many present at once. He moved against me, and I pulled him close to my skin and let him take what he needed which in truth was so much more than my blood.

 


	9. Untitled - Nine

He drank from me in small gentle pulls. This act caused me no pain but rather an exquisite sensation of most welcome pleasure. It was I supposed, the physical feeling accompanied by the fact that I knew my blood which was also his blood was the very thing that would make him whole once more. I longed to drink from him as well and it was hard to resist him as he urged me to do so with gentle words and motions. As much as it may have benefited me to do so, it was better for him that I decline.

I pulled away from him and moved toward the now cold figure that lay on our sofa. He looked as if he were sleeping and when I stopped a moment to look at him it crossed my mind to hope that wherever he was now in spirit, if there were such a thing, that he was at peace. I touched his cool cheek with the back of my hand and raised my eyes from him to find Lestat watching me with an almost mocking look upon his face.

"Have I made yet another sympathetic vampire?" He asked as he sat down.

I ignored him and in a quick motion I picked up Christian's body and heaved it over my shoulder as I headed for the back door.

"You see?" He called after me, "Instinct my boy!"

I made my way with him toward the wharves where I'd fed earlier. Was it instinct to dispose of the boy or was it that I didn't relish the thought of a corpse rotting in my beautiful home. That caused me to laugh as I walked on with him slumped against my side. He was still pliant enough that had anyone questioned me I'd have explained that of course, it was an old friend who'd had too long a night with the bottle. There was however no one about at the late hour or if there were, they wisely decided to remain hidden. I came to the place where the hefty man I'd fed on lay sprawled and vandalized. How foolish yet expected that someone had sought to retrieve his wallet. It had gone with me earlier when I'd left him of course. I smiled, thinking that action was more of an instinct than what I was now attending to.

I lay Christian down beside this stranger and his head lolled against the man’s rough tweed jacket. When they were discovered it would seem they suffered some ill-fated liaison. Murder-suicide perhaps. It would be relatively unnoticed in the end for New Orleans always had explanations for death.

I turned to walk home and began to think of Lestat and of all the future might hold for he and I now that we were bonded by this blood. In my distraction I found that my feet did not go directly toward the house but rather led me wherever moonlight spilled onto the pavement. No matter, I thought, Lestat would not worry and it was right that I should spend some time feeling my own way in this existence. Soon I looked up and instantly knew where it was I would head.

Fog swirled about my legs as I stood beneath the massive oak which had given me support in years past whenever I had come here. This was the very tree where he had found me that first desperate evening.

"I'm happy at last mother" I said into the air. I whispered to the shadows that may have held her in some manner. I was not above thinking of that possibility and I walked to the thin headstone that bore her name and caressed it absently. It was then in the darkness that I sat lost in soliloquy to her memory.

"I miss you still," I said "I miss Nathaniel. I can't know how you'd feel about all this mother, how he would feel knowing the choice I've made but I tell you....mortality could offer me nothing like this... nothing. I can only tell you mother that I want this. I do!" How would she feel about it if she could be here and tell me with her own words? My mother had never held fast to any faith in her life, except may be in her last days when she had sought to be absolved of any of her sins which to me were none. I knew in my heart that above anything else she would want me to be happy. I could only hope that in her death somewhere this still mattered.

When I felt the moisture fall onto my cheeks it roused me from my thoughts. I touched the tear with my fingers and brought it to my lips. Blood tears like I'd seen but once before.

I stood up and turned to leave. With a last look over my shoulder I said, "I would have saved you Mother. I would have given this to you" My words echoed in the darkness as they were empty and meaningless now for her. No spirits whispered understanding or forgiveness and so I started for home and he who was now the only family I had. As I walked I thought over my life and the things that had been beyond my control. I wondered if now I would be allowed any more mastery over the fates.

The next week passed in this similar fashion. In the day he and I would seek shelter from the light and at night I would venture out alone after he and I had talked on something or another. I wandered the city from corner to corner reveling in the way it now looked with this vision. Things I had never before noticed leapt at me and demanded my attention. From the spires of the church to the basement room where I used to play with the theatre my feet led me. I took stock of old memories and with every life claimed at my hands I began to realize the person I used to know as myself was gone. Some moments I would feel sad for the things I left behind but just as quickly would come the exhilaration of this creature that I was now. It was on one of my late night rounds that I realized I hadn't seen Madame since the night Lestat had given me The Dark Gift. I still paused in thought every time I mentally referred to it as that. The phrase to me was both intriguing and ironic. If Madame LeClair had been to see me while he and I slumbered in the daytime we'd never have heard her ring. It was a surprise that she hadn't called some authority to come and check on me but then she was a peculiar one only in that she understood me, and my sorrows nearly as well as my gift giver himself did. I sat up one night in the parlour alone while Lestat was out in the city as he had been the previous night. I wrote Madame a letter.

My dear love,

Have you been worried about me? I can only assume you have for that would be in your nature and I have been terribly callous to leave you as I did and not bring you up to date on where things stand. Still, I can only tell you now that I am happy. I am blissful in fact chere, but I cannot divulge more than that. Knowing you the way I do, I know that will be enough of an explanation for you and I love you for your silent compassion. You alone over these last years have known my soul like no other and I know that now you'll wait for me to come to you while you maintain a quiet belief that I am all right and happy, which I am.

For all that you've given to me in friendship and beyond, I thank you love. I am indebted forever but for now I must be selfish and indulge in this new life I've found. Now you see what I've done? I've gone ahead and given you explanations you really don't want. I can imagine you waving some bit of lace at me now and telling me to be quiet. You're beautiful as always.

I will see you again ~~

Dennis

This solitary slip of paper I placed under her porch mat one night as I walked. I stood on the street seeing a faint light from a kerosene lamp glowing in what I knew to be her room. I imagined her there sleeping and wondered if my note was truthful in the end. Would I ever see her again? Would that be safe for her? For me? Instincts...yes, Lestat's words rang in my ears and I knew that at least for a while until I learned to address the hunger within me she would be far better off without me.

The nights passed and Lestat appeared to be getting stronger but his skin still held scars and reminders of the swamp that he had occupied before coming to me but it was that brilliant mind of his I worried most for. For the most part I remained silent in my thoughts about the heinous crime of what Louis and the little one, Claudia had done to him. They were his creations as was I in the end but I could find no logic for their actions despite the explanations he'd provided of how they had come to be his family. My traitorous kindred. I held my tongue and bided my time. One night as I came to the house renewed from the killing of a gentle old woman, Lestat greeted me with to now uncharacteristic ranting as I stepped into the subtle warmth of the parlor. "Whatever is the matter tonight?" I inquired moving about slowly and laying my jacket on the chair. With a low look he faced me in the dimness of the firelight.

"You'll never be able to read my thoughts Dennis. That is a fact of the blood but I would think you intelligent enough to know just who and what is occupying my thoughts."

I walked around the perimeter of the room slowly gauging him. He was in a foul mood and though he was my maker and my friend I did not know how to be the recipient of his anger. I had seen him upset and full of snide remarks in my mortality. The nights he would come to visit and be flippant and vague about something or someone who had angered him were still fresh in my mind but this was different. Tonight he was angry with them in a way I'd never seen.

"It is a tragedy Lestat that I cannot know the images of your mind. There is so much there I would like to see." I said as I watched him

"Not tonight there isn't." He replied.

"Your Louis, hm?"

"My Louis?" He fairly snarled. "He wants his freedom or so he thinks! Do you know they are leaving for Paris? Paris! They plan to just wander off and start a new life. Why Dennis? I loved them both as much as I hate them now and they just plan to forget about me"

He must have found this out on one of his excursions this past week. Had he seen them? Likely not I figured but he was capable of finding things out if he wanted to know them badly enough. I sat down opposite him and noticed that his hand rose up to his throat unconsciously touching that fading scar which pulsed in his memory as vividly as if it were made moments ago. His eyes glimmered and he looked at me as if he wanted me to answer him somehow but I was at a loss for what to say.

"I just can't believe that he..." His words trailed off as he stood there. Finally I spoke, finishing that thought almost regrettably.

"He didn't. She did, and he allowed it."

The steel cold of his eyes flashed on me as that sentiment left my mouth and in a flash he was by my side sweeping books from the little table beside the sofa onto the floor. He yelled in an incoherent stream about all that was his pain. The chair was knocked over to its side and on its way took over the vase beside it on the floor. Questions and more came flowing from him as he ranted and when in his blind rage he lunged in my direction, I found the surprising gift of preternatural speed and wound up quickly near the door. I thought to leave but it was strangely fascinating to watch him in this mood and I knew he needed to release himself. I would not abandon him but neither could I help him out of the storm of his emotions. All I could do is wait for it to subside which it did eventually and it was then I spoke to him in slow deliberation as he sat spent, on the floor looking up at me.

"You deserve your vengeance Lestat" I said. I didn't want my words to cause another outburst but it was with a sincere interest and love for him that I continued. "The question is, do you plan to take it?" I held my breath as I waited for his reply as he seemed lost in thought. I moved from the door thinking the conversation was over. He stood up suddenly, startling me yet again by grabbing my arm before I could leave the room.

"Take it I will Dennis, and..." He said in a voice low and purposeful which was accompanied by a hint of laughter. "You, will be there to help me."

 


	10. Untitled - Ten

How could I help him? I wondered silently at his words and watched as he got up and moved past me into the bedroom. Dawn was fast approaching and he crawled up into the bed without any further comment to me. He was like that at times, expecting me to just take his words at face value and not question them. In the time I'd known him I'd seen this to be true and most times it was just something I accepted. He looked at me as I stood in the doorway of the room and watched him. None of the fury that possessed him earlier remained in his eyes and he slowly patted the mattress, telling me to rest beside him. I went quietly to his side and placed my head upon his chest. It was in surreal moments like this that I pondered all that had happened since first I met him. It was incredible, and yet it was simply my reality now. For many moments he said nothing, and simply toyed with my hair. I wasn't going to prompt him for his thoughts. I knew that he would tell me if or when he was ready and soon he did.

"You know, .. I want to forgive him. Louis. I should forgive him. It was her doing altogether really."

I waited for more.

"But Claudia," he continued "My little Claudia..."

Even without raising my head to look at him I could well picture the seething look on his face as he spoke her name. It was there in his words too, even though his voice was steady and calm.

"I gave her a new life Dennis, I gave her a new family and her beloved Louis. I gave her everything, and she tries to kill me off without thought or concern? No.... no, it cannot go unpunished. She has to pay for what she's done to me."

I said nothing in response. What could I say? These were beings like I was now. Kindred to me and they had indeed performed traitorous acts against their maker. How the girl could have done such a thing was beyond my understanding.

"You're going to kill her then?" I finally asked.

"Her death is the only thing that will satisfy me" was his answer. "It won't be completely easy Dennis," He said as he changed his position on the bed, pulling me more into an embrace. "Louis will make it complicated. He knows what she did deserves justice but he will protect her at any cost."

Those were the last words I heard as the deep and total sleep consumed me and the daylight hours came.

*****************

 

When evening roused me from my dreams I was alone. I moved into the semi-darkness of the outer rooms and found he'd written me a small note. It said he'd gone out for a walk and that I should wait for his return. So he was taking victims alone this evening. That thought made me smile for I knew that it meant he was feeling not only stronger but also aggressive. Whatever lay in store for us tonight, I knew would be quite an adventure. He returned shortly and found me sitting patiently in the chair doing nothing but waiting.

"You've fed well Lestat. Your color looks better than it has in days." I told him.

"I doubt that, but it is more than the feeding Dennis. Are you ready to go?"

"Go where?" I asked, though I knew what he meant.

"Come now, there is no time to waste. They are planning to leave this very night." He grabbed my hand and pulled me up out of the chair. I had no choice but to follow as he headed for the door.

The night was fresh with rain, and the puddles seemed illuminated by the moonlight. It was hard not to look at them as I walked and become fascinated by them. I had no time really, for Lestat's pace was challenging.

"Yes, yes...Leaving for Paris.... How nice." He said aloud as he walked slightly ahead of me. "Well, I'll have to disturb their travel plans just a bit." His laughter came from him then, rich and daring. I smiled as I kept stride with him. He sounded somehow happy, even if it was in planning the demise of his own fledglings. I wanted this now as well when I saw how it woke him. This aroused him more almost than any blood he had taken into his being since he came to me.

"Lestat?" I asked, and he paused in the street to face me. "I don't know what to do. You have some sort of plan in mind. Please tell me!"

He laughed gently and placed his hands on my shoulders. He looked into my eyes and I saw my own reflection in them.

"So eager to know Dennis" he said. "Louis comes first. He'll have to. He'll know why I've come and as I told you, he will try to stop me. That is where you come in."

We walked into the sheltering darkness of the park. Not so long ago Louis and I had stood in this very park the night I went looking for Lestat. I remembered keenly the way he had offered me the money and then ushered me into the shadows here beneath the oak when I'd flailed it about in my hand in anger. Now it was Lestat and I who stood close to the massive hunk of tree as he explained to my role in things.

"The element of surprise Dennis. That is crucial now." I couldn't help but to smile as I listened to the rest of what he had to say.

When he finished, he turned in the direction of the townhouse. I heard him sigh heavily, and then he started off once more. I followed, feeling more confident now that I knew my place in things.

At the corner before the townhouse we parted ways. He walked off casually and I watched him for a long moment before I turned and strolled off in the opposite direction. I happened to look up, as if fate had ordered me to do so. There across the deserted street was the one of the very siblings I had come to do away with. Her golden curls bobbed as she walked and they were almost shining in the dim light of the moon and the gas lamps. I smiled knowing she did not sense me near. When she looked off and started on her way I followed. Sooner than I'd expected she looked over her shoulder. She saw me and I waved to her casually as a friendly passerby might do but there was no fooling her. She knew I was followed her deliberately and by the way her eyes widened I could only assume that she knew who I was if not what I'd become. She shielded her eyes under her silken hat and hurried on her way while I too quickened my pace behind her. I was immensely pleased by the fact that I made her nervous but I stopped short as she ran the last few yards to the steps of the townhouse and bolted through the door.

I stood in the stone alcove of the furniture shop and watched while I laughed to myself. I wondered what Lestat was doing at that particular moment. Was he there in the townhouse as she opened the door? I looked hesitantly up at the window of the building where dim lamps were glowing. I saw nothing at first and then barely, a figure at the window pulling back the drapes. To my surprise and dark delight I saw it was Louis. I slowly allowed a smile, if it could be called such, to creep onto my face. This widened ever so slightly when I saw the little one come beside him and cling to him even as the material of the draperies clung to her.

They moved away from the window and I remained where I was, while I wondered if it was the right time to do as I'd been instructed. The answer came a few minutes later as the window was pulled shut with a loud bang. When I heard Claudia's high, alarmed cry I knew the time had come.

In the darkness I walked to the side of the townhouse and stood under one of the windows there. I looked up and without hesitation leapt toward the balcony. Ah, he was right... Lestat, when he said it would be effortless to climb and move in such a manner. I scaled the rough exterior as if I had been doing so all my days and when I reached the top I grasped the wrought-iron balcony and pulled myself over the top with a smile that would have unsettled the calmest of souls. She screamed and jumped back into the room when she saw me. With something dangerously close to laughter boiling inside of me I crashed through the glass doors and onto the floor of the parlor. As I stood up slowly I grabbed at her and tried to drag her to the floor. My intention was to hold her in submission until Lestat wanted her, until he had Louis out of the way, whatever that entailed.

Claudia was not one to go down easily I saw. She kicked and clawed at me while her screams nearly deafened me. While I attempted to cover her wailing little mouth I looked up to see Louis. No... He stood with the kerosene lamp poised above his head as he faced Lestat.

"Louis!" I shouted to him. "Don't do it Louis!" I said in the most commanding voice I could muster. Claudia writhed in my arms. I held her closer but it was not working. We fell together to the floor and I covered her body with my own in an attempt to hold her. With her child's fists she swung at me and yelled out to Louis. He could not have heard her cry just then for at that instant he had decided to throw the lamp at Lestat and I saw as well as heard it burst into flames with a huge whoosh.

At that point everything turned into a blur, as it happened so fast or so intensely that it seems fast and unreal. The room seemed to explode into flames. I cried out to Louis to stop, over and over I told him to please stop. I wanted to kill him for what he was doing but more than that I wanted to make all of it stop and go back to the way it had been only an hour before. Lestat turned about in the flames as he batted at his clothing and howled in pain. I thought to myself that this horror was not really happening. Lestat was not suffering and no, he would not be killed here. It was unimaginable even as it progressed before me. Not him, I cried in my mind, not my Lestat...not this way.

I forgot about my desire to hold onto anything but him and I dashed toward him wanting to help him, wanting to make everything sane again even as the flames grew around me and I knew there was no way I could right things. Claudia escaped my hands and I lost sight of her as the thick smoke filled the room. I could barely draw in a breath but I had to try to get to Lestat. I ran at Louis through the grayness and lunged at him. He fell underneath me to the floor and I got up off of him immediately and tried to see through the veil of smoke. Lestat was caught still in a thin curtain of flames. They crawled in an odd slow motion toward his face and hair while he screamed and danced about in the fashion of a mad marionette. I reached out to him but in the next instant I was stilled by a force to the backside of my head. Claudia stood behind me with the fireplace poker raised in her hand like an implement of war. My vision blurred and I crawled slowly toward Lestat on the other side of the room. Louis had wound up entangled with him and they now rolled over and over on the hardwood floor with flames threatening to destroy them both. Again came the deafening smack to my skull.... Claudia and her weapon once more. She then ran at Lestat and hit him repeatedly with it. My body collapsed as a cry escaped me. The pain was unendurable but the cry that left my lips was not for that but for the tragedy that played out around me as my world faded to black.

How much later it was when I regained my consciousness I could not say. I could see nothing, nor in my heart or head could I sense anything. Had Lestat escaped? The throbbing in my head was tremendous with a degree of pain I had never felt. Flames danced high on every wall and from outside I heard the clanging of approaching fire wagons. I had to get out of the building. I staggered to my feet and drunkenly walked to the window I'd come in seemingly moments before. The glass made a crackling sound as I stepped over it and reached the balcony. I looked into the smoke and destruction behind me as I weakly crawled over the side of the railing. There was no one there. Lestat was evidently gone, though I could not possibly tell whether that was due to his leaving or worse, due to his death.

I dropped over and landed on the street below with another slam to my battered body. The mortal men approached now from all angles to douse the flames that now escaped every window. I lay there on the rain soaked pavement almost wanting to go back into that fire, or surrender my life to whatever would free me from the pain of my body and mind. I heard the clattering footsteps nearby, with the voices of the men alarmed and excited.

A part of me thought to lay there and let myself be discovered. No, I could not do that. Lestat's voice came to my mind urging me to get up. Was this also the instinct he spoke of that night of my first kill? I rolled to my side and then up on my knees. Slowly I found my feet and crept into the shadows. The darkness enveloped me, and I wanted to lie down there on the very grass where I'd stood with him earlier that evening. The brightness from the fire filled the sky and I sat there under the trees and watched it.

Where was he? Was he as I was now, hurt and perhaps longing for death? He had to be. I had seen her hitting him over and over with the sharp, wicked poker. I had seen the fire hungry to consume him. The horrid images would not leave me. What if he had gone back to my home? That had to be the answer. He had nowhere else to go now did he? I had to go and see if he was there.

For the first time in my immortal life I appreciated the darkness not for its safety but because of its ability to conceal the raggedness of my appearance. My skin was black with smoke and the gash in my head still trickled blood onto my overcoat and my shirt. There were no mortals about to see me and that was just as well, for even though I suffered with my hunger, I hadn't the strength to conquer any of them just then.

I made my way ever so slowly to Nashville street. My house appeared stoically before me like an elder, admonishing me for leaving on my own and entertaining my desires. As I climbed the steps on the porch I recalled the vivid memories of the day I'd moved in here. I saw Madame LeClair in her finery as she fussed over me and made the moving men do things to her standards. I thought of the concert I had planned here that had never taken place and of the nights with Lestat. My mind filled with the sound of his laughter so vivid that I turned back to see if he was following me. I was alone still as I turned the lock and went inside. He was not waiting for me as I had hoped he might be. The rooms held nothing but darkness and the smell of dust.

I sank down into the chair and after a moment of vacant staring I cried as never before. Anguished sobs escaped me and the tears, ripe with my makers' blood coursed down my cheeks. How could things have happened this way? I was alone.... So alone now. Lestat was gone. Death had taken the only love I'd ever known and what was I to do without him? For what seemed like an hour I sat and wept for all I would never have again. Then I moved myself upstairs to salvage some of what was left of myself. The water was no comfort as it touched my skin and turned the hideous color of blood and soot. I rinsed myself repeatedly and wished that it were as easy to remove my grief as it was to dispense of the grime which covered my body. The tears had subsided but in their place came an emptiness I could not describe but somehow feared.

As quiet as the house around me I descended the stairs and stood in the emptiness of the parlor. In the corner stood the small, velveteen-covered sofa on which I had sat many nights. I crossed the room and laid down on its welcoming surface. I knew the dawn was coming soon and I thought of lost years and of mortal dawns I had seen until the moment when I surrendered and closed my eyes to the day.

The next evening I woke there just as I'd fallen into my death sleep. I found it a wonder that I'd made it through the day. A part of me wanted to never see another night and as I lay there that voice was loud and angry. My head was splitting and I groaned as I rose from the cushion beneath me that felt much less comfortable as it did last night. The bleeding had stopped of course but the pain was still very present and my body cried out for sustenance even though I did not want to go out into the streets much less pursue a victim. I cursed Claudia for her actions as I changed into fresh clothing. Damn her and Louis! How could they have done anything of this sort? His death was on their hands, and I could do nothing about any of it. She and Louis were now away on their journey, gone off as if nothing had happened and none of it mattered.

Into the narrow streets of the quarter I ventured, and was quick to spot my prey for the evening. A young woman, petite and blond crossed my path warily and headed toward the markets. Before she knew what to think I was on her and with my hand covering her mouth I moved her into the shadows. She struggled with me ineffectively for despite my weakened condition I was still far stronger than any mortal. The fear in her eyes was exhilarating to me as I looked at her. I could sense her thoughts, pleading and terrorized to which, in reply, I just smiled.

"Ma Cherie," I said to her. "After tonight, you'll never scream again. Doesn't that offer you any comfort at all love?"

She seemed to quiet a bit as though she listened to my words, perhaps waiting for more of an explanation for my actions. There was no reason to be found for why I held her tight to the stone wall enjoying her distress as I was. Her wide eyes searched the darkness over my shoulder for some assistance where there was none. Slowly I lowered my lips to the taut flesh of her throat while my hand remained over her mouth, so eager to cry out. For a brief instant I paused to look at the vein as it throbbed under her skin, full of her fear, then without mercy I sank my fangs deep, to cease its begging.

A sound of ecstasy and exquisite pain escaped her as I drew nourishing draughts of her anxious blood into my mouth. She slumped downward but I did not relinquish my hold on her. Instead I forced her harder against the wall and roughly pulled her head to the side. Her muscles and tendons ripped and I chewed at their fibrous texture with abandon.

When finally there was nothing left, I let her fall there against the bricks in the alleyway and sank to my knees as the effect of the kill overwhelmed me. "The swoon" Lestat had once called it, and indeed it was. New blood merged with my own and I felt the healing within my body, but I knew it might never heal the damage that had been done to me. It was possible that nothing ever would.

I moved about in the darkness of the city that had been my home for all of my mortal life. There were too many memories here now. My mother, Nathaniel and now my beloved Lestat had seen death in this place. I could not stay here anymore. I realized this as I walked toward Madame LeClair's home thinking how nice it would be to see her once more and feel her arms around me. What a fool I was to wish for such a thing. The days I'd spent under her care and tutelage had regrettably ceased the moment I allowed The Dark Gift to be given to me.

I stood briefly outside her home and looked up at the softly burning lamps. Would she understand if I showed myself to her? Would she know what I was and more importantly would I be able to restrain myself when I smelled her blood? I imagined it rich and heady like the mix of compassion and strength that was she. No, I supposed I would not. Still, I was so alone and so tired that I longed to see her and hear the words she might say. A fool's fancies that I couldn't help but to briefly entertain. No, Madame was lost to me too now. I turned away, holding to the fantasy that she would have said 'Dennis, Cher... come to me and let me love you.' She probably would have said something very similar for she was a loving soul to me always.

I wished her nothing but happiness as I said my goodbye to the city of New Orleans. I knew not where I was headed or where I would wind up with the dawn. It mattered little to me for it felt as if there were no place I could call home now. There was nothing here that could make up for what I'd lost. Louis and Claudia had tried to kill Lestat, and I had tried to restore him. I had given him my life as he had surely given me his in that one night of beautiful surrender. In the end, it too did not matter for he was gone now as if he had been destined to suffer such a fate. I lowered my head and stepped onto a worn path at the side of the highway and headed west. The sun would find me slower that way, and as I walked I spoke to them all in my mind, seething in anger at those who deserved it and begging forgiveness from those who I had let down. There was no one except my victims to assuage my emotions for I was a solitary vampire now with no kindred to turn to. Eternity awaited me, and I moved toward it, wanting the unknown of tomorrow only to erase the pain of tonight. Perhaps, I thought...someday.

 


End file.
